


In Hopes to Rebuild

by leftofhere



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Humor, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Masturbation, Multi, Oral Sex, POV Switches, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-breakup, post-solavellan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:53:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 56,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3563633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftofhere/pseuds/leftofhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starting post Solas breakup, Amira Lavellan, the newly-appointed Inquisitor, tries to rebuild Skyhold, the Inquisition (or what's left of it), and herself after defeating Corypheus. When she decides to reach out to any templars who haven't been riddled with red lyrium, she turns to Cullen for help and finds herself starting to look forward to the future again.</p>
<p>First time posting. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vallaslin

Amira was hoping nobody would notice tonight.  They’d notice eventually, of course, and ask about it—but she wasn’t prepared to answer questions right now, not tonight.  Not after what had just happened.  It was late when they—she—returned to Skyhold.  Maybe everyone was asleep.  Maybe everyone . . .

She stopped just outside of the gates, turning around and leaning against the rough outer wall of the place she’d grown to call home.  She wiped away some stupid stray tears and scorned herself for being this emotional for this long, _this_ close to Skyhold.  This was a sentiment she couldn’t afford.  Out in the Hinterlands or the Graves or the Plains, she could allow herself some sentimentality.  In her quarters, she could afford herself some sentimentality.  But from the gates to her quarters?  No, she had no room for overt emotion there.  She was the Inquisitor.  She had an image to uphold.

Amira took a deep breath in, held it, and then slowly exhaled. She cleared her head of the night’s events. She couldn’t think on that now. She stood up, squared her posture, nodded to herself, and walked with feigned confidence through the gates.

She hadn’t gotten halfway to the main tower’s stairs when she heard a sudden shuffle beside her. Instinctually, she lifted a hand up, ready to send a bolt of lightning into whatever was accosting her.

“Shit, calm it!” Sera said as Amira wheeled around to look at her, hand still raised. “Just me! Not some scary oogey-boogey here to spook you!”

“Maker, Sera, you can’t sneak up on me like that,” Amira said with a sigh. Her shoulders slackened and she dropped her hand, her posture immediately moving from defensive to self-conscious. “Sorry for that. It’s just habit.”

“Good habit to have though, innit? What with, you know, the oogey-boogies—demons and what have you. Didn’t come down here to check your habits though, did I? Your elfy bits is gone.”

Sera was pointing to Amira’s face. Amira looked down. She tried not to tear up.

“Left with Solas though, didn’t you? He do that, then? Where’s he at now? You leave him behind somewhere, tell him to get lost, or—’’

Amira sniffled and wiped away a tear.  “Sera, I don’t . . .”

“ _Shit_ ,” Sera said. Amira looked up. Sera’s eyes were wide; she looked shocked. “Shit, Amira, I didn’t mean—did he _actually_ though, or—’’ Her expression became furious. “ _Fifty arrows straight through his face, faster than he can say, ‘the Fade’!”_ She turned around and started walking angrily back to the tavern, but Amira grabbed her by the shoulder.

“Sera, please, don’t,” she said. “Please.”

“And why shouldn’t I? The bastard hurt my Inquisitor!”

“It’s not like that—he just, he has _reasons_ , I just . . . please, Sera. I can’t tonight. Alright? Please. I just need to go to my quarters and process everything, and I can’t be a mess while I’m out here.”

“Why not?”

“Can’t have the Inquisitor a pile of tears when there’s a war going on.”

“Well,” Sera said, sighing, “that’s stupid. But fine. No arrows in the face tonight. No promises for later, right, but I’ll keep ‘em in the quiver for tonight.”

“Thank you, Sera.”

“You—you gonna be all right, though?”

Amira looked at Sera. She was crossing her arms, kicking at the dirt a little, and looking away, her jaw clenched. She looked as though she were trying not to appear concerned. Amira was genuinely touched that Sera was being as serious with her as she possibly could be, but Amira tried not to let on.

“I’ll be fine. With some time. Until then, maybe . . . maybe make sure nobody intercepts me on my way back to my quarters? I’d really like to avoid any Inquisition Talks right now.”

“Right-o, Her Gracious Ladybits,” Sera said with a sloppy salute and a precocious grin. “You head on up away and I’ll make sure everyone steers clear.”

“Thanks,” Amira said.

“And Amira, just—just—he can shove it, yeah? You were always ten times better than him anyway.”

“Yeah,” Amira said, faking a smile back. It was an expression her face had gotten used to, and it came naturally anymore. She turned and started walking up to the tower, adjusting her posture back to its feigned confidence. Nobody stopped her on her way up to her quarters; she knew if anyone could keep the others away from her, it’d be Sera (or Leliana, of course, but she was likely holed up higher in the tower right now).

She appreciated Sera’s efforts. She just couldn’t change her feelings as quickly as Sera wanted. She was heartbroken.

As soon as she got to the first door leading to her room, her posture fell again. She walked more slowly, tiredly, opening the next door reluctantly. This was the first night of countless more during which she would be in this room entirely alone. It wasn’t as though they’d spent every night there together, but it was common enough for her to have trouble sleeping when he wasn’t by her side. She’d have to get used to the bed, almost comically large, being even more spacious now.

She was exhausted, but she wasn’t ready to face that bed just yet.

Instead, she figured she should probably look at her face. Really study it, examine it, become more comfortable with it before seeing anyone else. She sat down at her vanity, looking her reflection dead in the eyes.

She started crying almost immediately. Now that there was nothing holding her back and she was tucked away in her room, the tears came more easily than they had since before all of this—Skyhold, the rifts, Haven even—had started, and she hated that. She hated how easily he undid her. She hated him for doing this to her, to drawing her in and—

No. That was ridiculous, and she knew it. At no point did Solas pursue her; she knew she had been the one to pursue him. She’d flirted with him first, kissed him first. He didn’t do this to her. She’d done it to herself. If anything, he’d protested early on, and she’d been the one to press the relationship further. He’d been the one to say it shouldn’t be done. She’d been the one to say they should try anyway, and now, here they were—or, more, here she was. She knew this would happen. He’d told her this would happen. She just wanted so desperately to hope.

She touched her skin where her vallaslin had been. It was surreal, after so much time with it there, a part of her face, to see herself with it gone. She was glad it was gone. She didn’t want it there anymore. She looked older without it, in a way that she liked; ever since being named Inquisitor, her reflection with the bright, pink, whimsical vallaslin had looked unfittingly young. But now, looking at herself, examining her face, she knew it would always be a quiet reminder of losing Solas.

She let herself cry for a few moments longer, but she quickly found she was more tired than sad at this point. It’d be hard to get over, especially with him just _around_ , but like she’d told Sera, she’d be fine eventually. His voice had carried such finality with it when he left her, it was hard to feel anything but resigned at this point.

She got up and walked over to her bed, laying on it with a soft _thump_. She had meetings tomorrow. In the morning, she was needed at the war table. She knew that even though she and her advisers had made a conscious effort to keep the war table more or less professional (give or take a few jokes between the group), but she could already tell they would all have questions for her as soon as they saw her. She could already picture Leliana, an eyebrow raised in threatening curiosity; Josephine, brows knit, trying to remain on-task; and Cullen, trying to look stoic, eyes flicking from Amira to Josephine to Leliana, trying to see if they were _honestly_ going to continue with the meeting when something was _clearly_ wrong.

She already knew she’d been in for a talking-to from Cullen as soon as the meeting was over. Ever since supporting his decision to break his addiction, she’d grown so much closer to the once-was-templar than she’d ever expected. He’d turned out to be so much kinder and even funnier at times than she would have guessed, and it was nice having someone who both understood the gravity of the situation they were in (unlike Sera or Bull or Dorian) and also knew how to simply relax and talk with some urging (unlike Cassandra or Leliana). She didn’t look forward to relaying the events back to him; she knew he’d be sad and protective, wanting to go yell at Solas, and like with Sera, she’d appreciate the notion, she really would—but it just wasn’t what she needed right now. Chuckling darkly to herself, she decided what she needed was some wine and someone to, at the very least, kiss her. That would make her feel better, wouldn’t it?

She touched her face again and knew that no, it really wouldn’t.

Amira rolled over to her side, curling up, feeling the emptiness of the bed surround her. She hoped in vain for sleep that never came, dreading the morning and all the fresh pain and unwanted conversation she knew it would bring.


	2. The Meeting and the Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amira goes to the first war table meeting after her breakup, and her advisers will not be content until they learn what's going on. In the Western Approach, she talks to Cole, Dorian, and Bull about what's happened.

Amira was late to the war table meeting—a rarity, but in her haze of exhaustion, she had spent breakfast (which _someone_ had kindly left at her door with a loud knock before slinking away) poking at her food absently.  She wasn’t hungry, and she also apparently wasn’t reliable at keeping track of time. She opened the door to the room with more faked confidence, but she could feel a blush on her face that she knew gave her away. She was never late to meetings. That, paired with her red-rimmed eyes and the loss of her vallaslin, were sure to cause discomfort during the meeting.

Her vision of the three was uncannily accurate: Leliana, a brow raised; Josephine, her brows knit, trying to remain focused; and Cullen, looking between the three of them.

The image was a little shattered when Cullen began, “Amira—’’

All three of them looked at him. He immediately looked down, blushing.

“Inquisitor,” she corrected him quietly, still taken aback by his lack of formality. It wasn’t that he wasn’t allowed to use her name—it was that nobody was allowed to use it _here_. There was a strict rule about calling Amira by her title; it was easier to discuss difficult matters this way. When they were at meetings, she couldn’t be anyone’s friend. The meetings too often ended in sending her to what might be her death.

“Maybe we should discuss,” Josephine said delicately. “Did something—’’

“We can discuss after the meeting, if you’d like,” Amira said, “but right now, we need to work.”

Josephine nodded. Cullen was still looking down. Leliana, Amira noticed, was looking at Cullen, but the second she saw Amira’s gaze she looked away.

“Any news on Dorian’s studies?” Leliana asked.

“He’s still reading through the tomes,” Amira said, “but he believes he’s getting closer to a name.”

Leliana nodded. “And progress on tracking down Cassandra’s Seekers?”

“We’ve found four, but we’re going to need to do more work in the Approach before we can take down the last.”

“Are you heading back to the approach today?” Cullen asked.

“We are. I’d like to take Bull, Cole, and Dorian with me.”

A silence hung in the air for a moment.

“Bull, Cole, and . . . Dorian?” Josephine asked, her pitch slightly higher.

“I know Dorian has studying to do here, but yes, I’d prefer to take him with me.”

“Not Solas?” Cullen asked bluntly, and the words stung.

“No,” Amira replied through a clenched jaw. “Not Solas. I’d like to take Dorian with me. I can take Cassandra if you’d prefer.”

“Dorian will be fine, I’m sure,” Josephine said kindly, but she shot Cullen a glare.

The rest of the meeting went relatively as normal, save for the uncomfortable tenseness in the room. Amira was hoping that she could just get through the meeting and leave without needing to discuss, trying to focus the conversation more and more on tactics to divert from the situation at hand.

Alas, no such luck. As the meeting wrapped up and Amira started towards the door, Cullen said, “We’re not seriously going to not discuss this, are we?”

Amira stopped in her tracks and sighed. As she turned back around, she saw the three of them looking at her almost exactly as they did when she’d walked in. The only difference was Cullen, who was staring at her, arms crossed, his expression a mix of anger and concern. She knew she owed them an explanation, even if she just wanted to ignore it.

“Fine,” she said. “Fine, fine. Can we go to Josephine’s office?”

“Of course,” Josephine said, leading the way. They’d used her office for Amira to discuss her feelings once before, when Stroud had been made to stay behind in the fade, and Amira had come back to Skyhold in shambles. Josephine had reassured her that many times, the three advisors had used the office to talk after meetings.

Josephine took a seat at her desk. Leliana leaned on the bookshelves behind her. Amira and Cullen sat on the chairs on the opposite side.  They all looked at her, expectantly.

“. . . Solas knew how to take it off,” she said, slowly at first, and then trying to sound nonchalant even though her heart dropped when she said his name. “It meant something different than what I thought, and I—I wanted it gone, and he knew how to took it off.”

“And you are . . . fine with this?” Josephine asked.

“Yes,” she said, and it was true.

“But that isn’t everything,” Leliana said.

“No,” Amira said, more quietly. “It’s—it’s sincerely nothing vital. Nothing that will impede with my duties, I guarantee you.”

“That’s not why we’re worried,” Cullen said sternly. She and Leliana looked at him again, but Josephine kept looking at Amira.

“Amira, you know we are here to support you,” Josephine said. Amira nodded.

“Solas decided to break off . . . whatever we had last night. We won’t be seeing each other. It’s fine, really, if anything, it’s silly—we have much more important things to worry about.”

“I am so sorry,” Josephine said, sadly. “Heartbreak is often more dire than any immediate physical threat, it seems.”

Leliana looked from Josephine and then back to Amira. “It doesn’t make any sense, though,” she said. “Solas never feigned any feelings for you. I would have seen through it if he had.”

“He said he had reasons. Said I’d understand one day. That maybe, in another world—anyway. I. Thank you all for listening. But I will be fine.”

“Of course you will,” Leliana said, her voice kind but almost proud. “We have seen you succeed through worse, have we not?”

“Thank you,” Amira said. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d really like to set off for the Approach.”

Josephine and Leliana were both staring at Cullen, who was looking off absently. There was a beat of silence before Cullen blinked and looked at the three of them.

“Of course, of course,” he said, half-stammering. “Do what you need to do.”

Amira nodded, got up, and left. Her advisors stayed behind, silently, and she could only imagine the conversation they’d have without her there.

 

The day had been filled. They’d gotten all the way to the Approach and closed three rifts before Amira and Dorian were both too tired to do much else, and the sun had long since passed. Bull _insisted_ they seek out the dragon (“What an end to a night! Come on, boss!”) but Amira had to put her foot down. She was drained. As they set up camp and started a fire to cook some of the meat they’d hunted earlier in the day. It wasn’t as nice as the fare they’d become used to in Skyhold (as Dorian kept reminding her), but it’d do.

As they sat down to eat around the fire, Cole joined them, sitting cross-legged even though he didn’t need to eat.

“Well,” Dorian said, filling another uncomfortable silence. “You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet today, Inquisitor. One might even say as though it seems you’re avoiding a certain topic.”

“He took it, and more, too,” Cole said quietly. Bull tensed, as did Amira, but Dorian looked at him observantly. “He wanted to, but not like this. He tried but he didn’t try hard enough, but he couldn’t have tried harder. Things slip through his hands like sand, silently slipping sadly, sadly—I can’t hear him anymore, though. Can’t hear him anymore. Confusing.”

“Something happened, then,” Dorian said.

“Obviously something happened,” Bull said, crossing his arms. “The question is, who do I need to teach a lesson to, and is it a bald elf? Because I sure as hell won’t be sad if he’s the one who needs to get a good beat-down.”

“Yes yes, very intimidating, amatus, but _perhaps_ we should let our dear Inquisitor speak before making too many death threats?” He patted Bull lightly on the cheek, and Bull huffed in faked annoyance that thinly covered his delight.

Amira looked at them. She always felt more comfortable out _doing_ things versus in Skyhold, deciding where delegates, troops, or spies should go. She’d spent so long traveling before Haven that it was a comfort to her to travel around now, even if it were far more dangerous than staying in the castle. Cole was staring up at her, eyes just visible past his hair and his hat. Dorian and Bull sat across from her, lit by the fire, Bull with his dragon tooth necklace and Dorian with his head just lightly resting on Bull’s shoulder. Amira took a deep breath in and told them everything.

She told them about the first time she and Solas had kissed, and how much he had warned her that this wasn’t something they should do. She told them about their walks in the fade, about how affectionate he’d become, about how much she looked forward to doing something as nerve-wracking as closing rifts because it meant traveling with him by her side, about how he knew she deserved better than what her vallaslin meant and taken it off, about how she had said, “I love you,” and he had said, “I’m sorry.”

Dorian sat forward, looking entranced. Bull crossed his arms, looking furious. Cole nodded, and Amira knew he was already well aware of what had happened.

When she finished telling them about Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen’s reactions, Dorian sat back up, put on a smile and said, “Well, thank the _Maker_ you’re free of that then, no? It sounds like he was a mess, and _clearly_ he can’t appreciate a good thing when he sees it.”

“But that’s the thing,” Amira said. “He _did_.”

“Then where is he now?”

“He just—he had his reasons. He couldn’t do it.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “So sorry, dear, but you may be speaking to the wrong audience. Tevinter,” he said, pointing to himself. He pointed at Bull, “Qunari,” back to himself, “male,” back to Bull, “male,” back to himself, “dreadfully elegant,” back to Bull, “enjoys brutality. And yet, here _we_ are.”

“He’s got a point, boss,” Bull said, nodding. “So, do I need to kick his ass?”

“No. But thank you.”

“I could do it. Easy.”

“I know, Bull,” Amira said, smiling. “But really. Sincerely. Don’t. But thank you.”

They ate, Amira in a genuinely better mood than she had been since last night. She’d forgotten how comforting good company was, and she regretted how cold and closed-off she’d been with her advisers. She couldn’t blame Cullen for being angry with her; she’d have been angry with him if he’d been so businesslike about such a personal matter. She resolved to apologize to him, Josephine, and Leliana when she got back, but she decided that tonight she would try to focus on her friends.

She started off toward her tent a few hours later, taking an hour after everyone else had packed up to stargaze. She tried not to let herself dwell on remembering how much she missed him, how much she wished he were at her side. She tried to just look up at the stars and remember that she had gotten through worse, just like Leliana had said.

Cole was outside her tent when she got up, brushing the sand out of her hair and off of her back.

“There’s so many more, you know,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Cassandra reads her book and laughs. When was the last time I laughed so honestly? I’ll have to thank her again despite Tethras. Sera wonders if she should give more chances to others who are elfy. Yeah, she hates shoes and loves nature, but maybe sometimes she has a point though, doesn’t she? Dorian wonders if he’d ever have allowed for pride in himself, real pride. She told me she was proud of me and for the first time those words sounded sincere. Cullen—’’

“Cole, I appreciate this, but I think maybe I shouldn’t be privy to these things if people don’t want to tell me themselves.” She paused. “And what do you think?”

Cole smiled and bowed his head slightly. “I think people care about you. I think you should be happy.”

Amira hugged Cole and said, “Thank you, Cole. That means quite a lot to me,” before retiring to her tent, the emptiness beside her as she laid down feeling slightly less empty, at least for tonight.

 

Back in Skyhold, Cullen stretched at his desk, his armor clinking lightly. He’d been working all night. He needed some rest. As he stood up, his door quietly creaked open, and he was surprised to see Leliana walk in, closing the door behind her with a knowing smirk that immediately worried him.

“You’re in love with the Inquisitor.”


	3. Leliana Questions Cullen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For tanithp, who left the first comment ever, which was very kind. I wasn't going to write this chapter today, but they were mad about the cliffhanger. :)

Leliana sat down across from him at his desk, crossing her legs and leaning back with satisfied authority. Cullen remained standing.

“That is ridiculous,” Cullen said, but he could feel his skin getting warmer. He knew he was blushing. Leliana laughed, more intrigued and delighted than teasing.

“You are a terrible liar, Cullen. My, my—I had no idea our stoic commander could even feel such feelings. You had me fooled for a statue.”

Cullen crossed his arms. “That’s a rather unkind thing to say.”

“But it is _accurate_.” She sat forward, putting an elbow on his desk and using it to prop up her head. “There are moments when you actually act human, but you must admit they are rare. I can’t say I’m surprised, though, to be honest. I’ve had my suspicions for some time. Today simply confirmed them.”

Cullen sat back down, his armor clinking once again.

“So, what do you want from me? Are you going to use this as some sort of blackmail?”

“Not if I don’t need to—and I don’t suspect I will.”

“So then why bring this up?”

“So you do admit it, then?”

“I admit to nothing,” he said, but he was immediately embarrassed by the childish pout in his voice. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, which might have looked attractive if it weren’t for a finger getting caught in a knot. He expected Leliana, nor anyone else in Skyhold, had ever seen him look so unprofessional. He untangled the knot before saying, “I don’t know, Leliana. Sincerely. I certainly don’t know about the phrase, ‘in love with.’ I admire her.”

“You find her attractive.”

Cullen blushed furiously. “I—that isn’t—do we need to—’’

“Do you find Josephine attractive?”

“Josephine is very lovely,” he said, confused as to why she was asking.

Leliana smirked again. “That answer comes to you so easily, and yet you stumble when I ask you about Amira. You think I am to believe it is the same?”

“It’s—no. It’s different.” He wished deeply for a drink. “Fine. It’s different. I will admit to that. But I have not had enough time to think about my feelings on anything other than Corypheus, the red templars, and the rifts.”

Leliana nodded. “Of course, Commander.”

He paused before continuing, wondering if he’d even want to know the answer to his next question. “If this isn’t for blackmail, then why are you asking?”

“I simply find it curious,” she said with a shrug. “Unfortunately, there’s less going on within these walls than I’d like. I know that, like you, I have trouble acting as an actual _person_ sometimes, but I do get bored. Messages from my spies are more work than entertainment, and now that Bull and Dorian are serious instead of just sleeping with each other—’’

“Iron Bull and Dorian?”

At that, Leliana laughed again—though it still didn’t feel like she was making fun of him. “Oh, Cullen, we _must_ get you out of this tower more often. The point is, this is interesting. And parts of it, intriguing. For instance: you seemed sullen when she told us she her relationship with Solas had ended. Why?”

Cullen squirmed uncomfortably. He didn’t like laying bare his feelings like carrion for a raven. “She—she seemed unhappy.”

“Most people in your situation would rejoice if the person they desired ended a relationship.”

“My _supposed_ situation.”

“Of course, Commander. Your _supposed_ situation. So, why did you not rejoice?”

“I already said she seemed unhappy.”

“You didn’t see it as an opportunity?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Hm.” Leliana paused. She toyed with a quill on his desk, looking nonchalantly pensive. “But you never did like Solas.”

“He is an apostate.”

“And that is the only reason why you dislike him?”

Cullen paused to make sure he was giving the question serious thought. “I dislike him because he is an apostate, because his devotion to elves seems to limit his view of other races, and because frankly, I find him a bit condescending.”

“Not because of his relationship with Amira?”

Cullen quirked his head to the side, surprised. “Of course not. I confided in you long before they were seeing each other that his presence made me uncomfortable.”

She nodded slowly. “You are an interesting specimen, Cullen.”

“That . . . is not comforting.”

“I think I shall help you.”

“That is not comforting either.”

Leliana gave a charlatan hurt expression. “Cullen, so cruel. Fine. If you do not want my help, I shall not give it.” She stood up. “Do have a nice night.”

“Wait,” Cullen said, immediately regretting it. “What do you mean by help?”

She sat back down. “And here I thought you didn’t love her.”

He huffed, frustrated. “I said I didn’t know. This help—it wouldn’t be anything underhanded?”

“Of course not. I may not be as affectionate as you or Josie, but I do care about Amira. I wouldn’t be here speaking with you if I didn’t.”

“And I don’t want it to be any time soon.”

“Of course. Time to heal is vital.”

“And I don’t . . .” He paused, thinking. “I don’t think I want your help.”

“No?”

“No. I think that if it something I _may or may not_ be interested in _at some point in the future_ , it is a thing I should pursue for myself. I don’t think assistance would be . . . fair.”

Leliana looked at him curiously. “ _Such_ an interesting specimen. Well. I cannot say this is a decision I don’t respect. You are admirable, Cullen. If you do ever need assistance, though, you know where I’ll be.”

And with that she stood, turned, and left his tower, leaving him to sit at his desk and wonder what had just happened to him and how.

 

The problem was that Leliana wasn’t wrong.

Cullen thought it over as he laid in bed, trying for sleep. He knew he was attracted to Amira. He had been attracted to her when they were in Haven, before she had decided to side with the mages. He’d been surprised and a little uncomfortable that this Herald of Andraste was a mage, of course, but that was an impulse he had already been trying to push past. She was just . . . interesting. She was upbeat and determined; she seemed to genuinely _want_ to help those around her. He liked that her tattoos were such a loud color, so different from any of the other subdued hues he’d seen; it seemed to suit her. He liked that she was brazen, asking forward questions and saying incredibly bold things to nearly everyone—even Cassandra, who Cullen suspected was not interested in other women in the slightest. He liked how readily she stood by her friends and those who had joined her side, how she always gave them the benefit of the doubt, even when she didn’t seem to particularly like them.

But then the attraction grew to something different. He’d been furious when she’d sided with the mages, but the decision forced him to step back and assess _why_ he was so furious, and why he was so furious with _her_ instead of the situation. He had realized he was still thinking about mages as a unit, and it made him uncomfortable; after getting to know so many individual mages, he thought he’d gotten rid of his prejudice. She’d made him realize he hadn’t. He knew it was something he needed.

It grew still when she would come to him after war table meetings for tactical advice, which turned into advice about how to handle Sera, or Vivienne, or Cassandra, or even Solas—all of whom she struggled with initially. Cullen didn’t know why she came to him of all people for help with interpersonal relationships, but he liked listening to her at the very least. Sometimes, they would play chess—she would often try to distract him from work, but especially then, he was just too focused. He did start thinking of their discussions as one of the only times he felt a little at ease in Haven, though. He started expecting their talks after meetings before she would go out in the field and he would stay and plan.  He started missing her when she left.

When Haven was attacked, he had immediately snapped into battle mode, organizing people as best he could against the waves of darkspawn. He had been trained for this: his emotions shut down, and he became a force of battle, placing people where they needed to be and fighting alongside his troops. He stayed in battle mode as he arranged the line of people walking to Skyhold through the snow; he stayed in battle mode as he helped pass out their measly rations to the few survivors; he stayed in battle mode as they built camps and set up fires. It wasn’t until he saw her through the wall of snow and wind, collapsing on the ground, that he was brought back to himself.

He was the first person to watch over her before she came to. Cassandra insisted on taking the next watch. After her, Solas. Then, Mother Giselle. Cullen had only agreed to leave because he knew he had a duty to Josephine and Leliana; the commander of their army couldn’t leave their sides at a time like that.

And he watched as she came to, as she spoke to Mother Giselle, and then, as she was led off by Solas to discuss something. He’d seen them talk more frequently. Amira had stopped asking Cullen for advice on Solas during their talks. Cullen saw how Amira looked at Solas, and he knew that she had fallen for him. Cullen refused to let himself feel bitter about it; his interest had only just been brought to his own attention at that point, when he had started missing her, and he had certainly made no advances. He didn’t see the point in being upset with either of them for doing something that made them happy. They both probably needed it.

That isn’t to say it didn’t sting when he saw them, of course. While he wasn’t angry with them, he was sad about the situation. He knew he had missed his chance, if there had been one at all. He was glad they were a fairly discreet couple, even if he knew the relief was a selfish one.

And what now, he thought? What would come from this new idea of hope, like snow melting to nourish a deep-planted seed? Would it start to grow? Did he even want it to?

He decided not to think on it. Now was certainly not the appropriate time to make any kind of decision, with Amira’s relationship having ended so recently. It wasn’t respectful to even think of her as someone to pursue right now.

And yet, as he thought, he thought of one of the times she had spoken with him in his office here in Skyhold, having just recently _killed a dragon_ , playing chess with him, and laughing at a story about his sister. He remembered the sound of the laugh, and the look on her face as he got to the part where he’d blamed the wreckage of a piece of furniture on his sister, who had been an infant at the time, wildly incapable of breaking an entire wooden table. Her smile had been so wide and riveted before erupting into that laugh. He’d had to look away for fear of indulging his feelings too much.

As he thought of it, he still blushed, and his heart still fluttered, and he hated that.


	4. Fleeing

By the time Amira returned from the Approach, four days later, word had somehow already gotten around that she and Solas were no longer . . . whatever they had been. Seeing each other, she decided on. She didn’t know how the news had spread. Sera wouldn’t have told anyone, not with knowing how much Amira didn’t want to talk about it. Her advisors wouldn’t have said anything; they weren’t the type to gossip except for amongst themselves. Solas wouldn’t have said anything. He rarely spoke to anyone other than her and occasionally Blackwall or Josephine.

But still, somehow, news had clearly gotten out. When she walked into Skyhold, all eyes were either on her or _very_ purposefully averted. It was quiet. The only people who started acting naturally a few moments later were those who had come from Orlais, which wasn’t surprising. She hated the attention on her. She was more or less fine with it when she was speaking or acting as the Inquisitor, but right now, with the source of the attention so personal, she felt acutely _Amira_. She had never been in a group so large that paid _her_ so much uncomfortable attention. She felt her shoulders tensing.

Dorian cleared his throat lightly behind her, the group still walking as a unit as they approached the main tower. “Bull,” he said, “tell me again about the time you and the Inquisitor took down the dragon in the Hinterlands?”

“It was _amazing_. Best damn mission we’ve gone on. There we were, passing through the camp, when we see the tunnel. We go in, thinking, ‘What might this be, hm? Some sort of nice lake? A little grove filled with some foxes and rams frolicking around?’ But then no, we turn a corner, and _there she is_ , huge and setting everything on fire. Incredible. And we know we can’t just let this stand! This is where our camp is! This is where our troops are! We have a _duty_ , kadan, a _duty_ to take her down. The Inquisitor looks at me and grins, and I know _today is the day_. We go through the tunnel and I just charge . . .”

As Bull retold the familiar tale, one he would recite at any opportunity, the crowd slowly returned to normal. The break in tension caused by Bull’s booming, enthusiastic voice was much needed. Amira looked over her shoulder and gave Dorian a grateful smile, and he returned her look with a small grin and a nod before returning his attention to Bull.

Amira walked through the tower and up to her quarters to change out of her armor. On her desk, she found a small, gold paper parcel tied closed with a purple ribbon. When she opened it, she found three beautiful truffles decorated with what looked like flecks of gold. She could only imagine they had come from Josephine—the two had indulged in fine chocolates together more than once in rare downtimes between especially stressful missions. On her bed, she found what she could only assume was a very, very nice bottle of wine, with a note written in stylistically pointed and half-messy script:

“ _Heartbreak’s a bitch. –Varric_ ”

She smiled sadly and set the wine on the desk next to the truffles. Maybe one day she’d actually have the time to sit down and enjoy it. She bathed and changed, taking a bracing breath in before returning to the main hall. She needed to go sell some acquisitions from the Approach and check on the seeds she’d planted in the new courtyard (one of the few relaxing things to do in Skyhold), but she stopped short at the last door on the left.

Varric was, as usual, sitting at the table outside the door. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

“You have a good reason to go in there?” he asked.

“I—yes,” she lied. “I need to speak with Cullen.”

“Oh, really? What do you need to speak to Cullen about?”

“I . . . I need to speak with him about . . . the soldiers.”

“The soldiers.”

“Yes. The soldiers.”

“Sure you do.”

Amira crossed her arms. “I have very important duties to attend to.”

“Like telling off your ex-boyfriend?”

“That’s not what I was going to do!”

“Oh, got it. Like trying to get your ex back.”

“I—no!”

Varric chuckled. “Sure, Inquisitor. Listen, I’m not gonna stop you from going in there, but you know it’s gonna hurt. If you do it, just give him hell. Don’t let him off easy. That never leads to anything but more pain.”

Amira took a breath in, nodded, and put her hand on the door. “But that’s not why I’m going,” she said, still clearly lying, and not looking at him.

“Whatever you say, Amira,” he said as she pushed the door open.

He was painting. He was working on the mural. His sleeves were rolled up, and his hands and forearms had smatterings of paint on them. He was touching up the segment depicting the events at Halamshiral, leaning in close and making the line more precise, even though she was sure nobody but Solas (and perhaps the ever-specific Cullen) could tell it wasn’t perfect.

He looked at her as she entered the room. She froze. He looked down. She moved her right hand to her left shoulder, holding it awkwardly, suddenly regretting this decision. He returned to his painting, but he looked distracted. Amira stood there, not knowing what to do.

“ _Give him hell. Don’t let him off easy_.”

She’d always respected Varric. She knew about his past with Bianca—at least, as much as he’d tell. He was right. It wouldn’t lead to anything but more pain.

Solas looked back up at her. Shit.

“It looks nice,” she said. “The mural, I mean. You’ve . . . you’ve done a good job on it.”

“Thank you,” he said. He paused. “I am glad it is to your liking.”

 _Shit_.

Solas went back to painting. His shoulders and back were tense. Before she would allow herself to say anything else, even though her mind was cacophonous with things to say ( _Why? Why would you do this to me? Why can’t you try? Am I not good enough? Why am I not worth the effort? Why would you let this go on for long? Why?_ ), she walked back him briskly, stiffly, through the middle door and towards Cullen’s office.

 

Cullen was poring over stacks of papers on his desk. Josephine needed him to double-check the numbers on the Inquisition’s recent profits and purchases. He had four stacks: on his left, a stack of papers he had yet to go through; directly in front of him, the stack of papers he was currently going through; above that one, a large stack that was in good order; and to the right of that one, a stack of papers that needed further inspection or revision. He hated the asymmetry of the setup, but his desk didn’t have enough space to have them all in one row and give him room to flip through his current stack. At least he had a system to show which stacks had already been gone through and could separate them accordingly.

His door opened quickly and then slammed shut almost immediately after. He looked up, frustrated with the interruption, and was surprised to see Amira there, leaning against his door as if she were trying to hold it shut.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, standing up.

“Fine, fine, I just—’’

“Was someone following you?”

“No,” Amira said with a sigh, her shoulders falling and a hand covering her face, “just . . . my shame.” She looked up at him with an apologetic smile before continuing, “I’m sorry—you’re busy. I just needed to escape for a second and the door to here was in sight, so—I’ll leave you to your work.”

“No, no,” Cullen said, more quickly than he anticipated, “please, by all means. A break would be nice.”

Amira smiled, relieved, and walked over to his desk. He took the stacks of papers and piled them up, switching direction for each stack to keep them separated neatly. He set them on the left side of the desk.

“So, Amira,” he said, making sure to clearly show he expected the conversation to be casual instead of professional, “your . . . _shame_ was chasing you?”

Amira leaned forward, her elbows on the desk, one hand propping up her head and one fiddling anxiously with a stray lock of hair by her temple.

“More or less. I—I was going to leave the main tower and sell some things. And then I. Didn’t.”

“Instead you came here?” he asked, and then realized what she had to pass through to _get_ here with the door she’d taken. “Ah. You spoke with Solas.”

“Not exactly. I said a sentence to Solas. He said a sentence back. And then I fled.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Amira Lavellan, closer of rifts, Herald of Andraste—’’

“A title I have _never_ been comfortable with—’’

“—uniter of peoples, _slayer of dragons_ , fled from a conversation? I find this doubtful.”

“You have far too much faith in me, Cullen. Dragons are fine; dragons are predictable. Dragons just set you on fire and try to eat you.”

“‘Just.’”

“ _People_ , on the other hand, are far more unpredictable, and that is far more terrifying. So yes. I fled.”

“Would you . . . like to talk about it?” The reluctance was clear in his voice. Amira smiled apologetically.

“No, but thank you for the offer. I know you never much liked Solas, what with him being an apostate. We don’t need to discuss it. I just needed an escape before I started talking to him or crying or something equally embarrassing.”

Cullen nodded, uncomfortable with the notion of her crying, and uncomfortable with discussing this at all, especially given his recent conversation with Leliana. He couldn’t stop turning it over in his head. He didn’t point out that it was much more than Solas being an apostate that he didn’t like; that probably wasn’t what Amira needed right now.

“How was the Approach?” he asked, desperate for a change of topic.

Amira shook her head. “I’d really rather wait for Josephine and Leliana to discuss.”

“Of course, Inquisitor. My apologies.”

Amira sat back, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t know this was the war table. Why so formal all of a sudden? Is something wrong?”

“No, no—I’ve just . . . I’ve just been on edge as of late.”

She leaned forward again, looking concerned. “I don’t mean to pry—’’

“Not lyrium. I promise. But I do appreciate the concern.”

She nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. I do worry sometimes. It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable, it’s just—it’s a difficult thing, I would imagine.”

“You’ve helped greatly,” he said, and then quickly added, “as has Cassandra.”

“Good. She’s a good friend, even if she comes off a bit businesslike at times.” She chuckled, and then continued, “Actually, it makes a great deal of sense for you two to get along, now that I think about it.”

Cullen crossed his arms, but his face refused to look angry. He managed, at best, an unconvincing smirk.

“Don’t act as though it isn’t true,” Amira said. “So, if not lyrium, why have you been so on edge?”

Cullen sighed. “Nothing to be discussed here instead of the war table.”

“Ah. Makes sense. Don’t you ever miss going out and really _doing_ things instead of just making sure everyone else is doing things as they should be?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “It’s difficult to see past Skyhold, though, when my duty lies here.”

“You really should come with us eventually. I’m sure everyone would be delighted to see you in battle instead of just speaking tactics.”

Cullen smiled apologetically. “If the opportunity would arise, I would take it, but I can’t imagine that happening any time soon.”

Amira paused. She looked away from him and started fiddling idly with a quill on his desk, almost like Leliana had the last time he’d seen her.

“Do you ever—do you ever find yourself reacting to things as you would in battle?”

“How do you mean?”

“Readying yourself for attack when you hear a loud noise or when you think someone is approaching you?”

“Of course,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“I was . . . stressed the night that Solas—with my vallaslin. The tattoos. When I came back to Skyhold, Sera came to speak with me, but I didn’t hear her until she was at my side. I nearly attacked her.”

Cullen nodded. “That’s normal, I think. I hate to admit that it happens to me whenever someone does magic around me, even now.”

“I wish you would have told me sooner. I’d have been more careful.”

Cullen shook his head. “That’s not your responsibility.”

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t help.”

Cullen looked at her for a moment. She did look different without her tattoos, but not in a bad way. Just different. The focal part of her face was her eyes now.

He looked away and tried not to blush.

“Regardless, it’s something I’m trying to be better about. But I understand the concern. It can be unnerving, almost hurting a friend—but I do think that until all of this is over, there are worse reactions to have.”

“That’s true, I suppose. I just don’t like it.”

“It gets easier,” he said.

“You’re a terrible liar, Cullen. I do appreciate the sentiment, though. Thank you for talking to me.”

“Always. If—you need to talk, that is, I mean.”

Amira looked at him curiously. “Are you alright?”

“I’m—yes. Fine. I just—I’ve been on edge. Like I said.”

“. . . Alright.” She stood up, putting her hands on her hips and looking at the door through which she came. “We should probably meet with the other advisors. I’m . . . I’m going to use _this_ door,” she said, turning to the other entrance to his tower. “I know it’s the long way around, but . . .”

“No, of course. Would you like me to tell Leliana so you don’t have to go through that way again?”

Amira sighed in relief. “That would be _incredibly_ helpful.”

“Let me make sure everything is in order here, and I will speak with her soon.”

“Perfect. And again, thank you. This has been helpful.”

“I’m happy to have helped.”

Amira smiled at him and he smiled back before she left. He took a moment to breathe out one long, drawn breath before leaning back in his chair, looking at the ceiling, and cursing himself.


	5. Truffles

                Another week passed, and Amira was still avoiding the main tower other than her quarters and the war table. She’d had to go through the room where Solas was painting to speak with Dorian and Leliana, and each time, it had been awkward at best and devastating at worst. They’d gotten to a point where she could pass through the room with neither she nor Solas saying anything. She honestly wasn’t sure whether or not that was an improvement. She missed speaking with him. She missed _him_. She didn’t speak to anyone else about the matter, even when it felt almost unbearable; she didn’t want to bother anyone with her silly troubles when there was an end of days likely on the horizon.

                Each time she returned to her quarters, she eyed Varric and Josephine’s gifts longingly, wishing she could devote the time to savoring the truffles and being at least slightly intoxicated. At the end of the week, though, she was so fed up with wallowing in her sadness and shutting herself away. Almost all of their missions had been completed. She deserved the time she’d need to enjoy at least the truffles. She _needed_ the time to talk about her anguish with someone.

                Cassandra had become an unlikely friend. Amira had not expected to be so close with someone who had originally thought her to be the murderer of the Divine. Cassandra had come off as so cold and cut off, so businesslike and unfriendly—but Cassandra had proven full of surprises. She was kind, caring, and incredibly dear to Amira now.

                She was also _shockingly_ vicarious when it came to Amira’s love life. The moment Amira had found out about Cassandra’s love of Varric’s most tasteless serial, she knew she had found the person in whom she could confide every detail of her love life. Cassandra always acted as though the discussion were far too crass for her, but the lie was thin, and Cassandra was always happy to hear more, laughing at times and riveted at others. Amira always looked forward to bringing Cassandra new details, even something as small as, “Cassandra, he called me his _heart_. In _Elvish_.” It was one of the small joys Amira had when there were still plenty small pleasures to be had—when she and Sera had the time to play pranks on Josephine and Cullen, when the biggest threat was a ball, when she still had Solas. She missed it. She missed it all, but at least she could have her talks with Cassandra back, at least for one night.

                And if Amira knew anything about trashy serials, it was that if the readers loved reading about anything as much as the smut, it was devastating heartbreak.

                Cassandra was delighted when Amira asked if she would join her in her quarters for a good talk and better chocolates. Amira knew Cassandra wouldn’t drink, and she certainly didn’t want to drink the wine alone; she’d have to save that for another night.

                When Cassandra got to her room, Amira took a knife and cut each of the three truffles in half, giving Cassandra one of each. The two of them marveled at the quality of the chocolate before eating a piece slowly. The first of the three had a sort of earthy undertone Amira couldn’t quite place, but it was something savory—basil? Sage?—that Amira loved. She let the chocolate melt slowly on her tongue and reminded herself to thank Josephine once more.

                “This is _marvelous_ ,” Amira said, and Cassandra nodded in agreement.

                “So, tell me, my friend,” she said, sitting forward intently. “What has been troubling you?”

                Amira groaned dramatically. She had a tendency of playing things up when talking to Cassandra, usually because it was just more fun. Now, though, she thought the extra shred of drama might actually help her feel better. Maybe it would show her how ridiculous she was being.

                “Cassandra, I miss him _so much_.”

                “I know. And I am sorry.” She said it sincerely, but continued after a beat, “I never _did_ get a . . . first-hand account of what happened, you know.”

                Amira smiled sadly. Cassandra’s complete lack of subtlety did help the sting of remembering that night. Like she had with Dorian, Bull, and Cole, she told Cassandra every detail, but she heightened the drama. She was displeased to find it didn’t make the situation feel sillier. If anything, indulging in the details made it sound more real to how it felt. It made the pain more present. She wished she enjoyed drinking alone and looked longingly at her bottle of wine for a beat.

                “I am so sorry,” Cassandra said. She wasn’t looking at Amira. She looked serious and sad. “I cannot imagine how you must feel.”

                “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean this to be so serious,” Amira said. “And my current heartache is nothing compared to what you have gone through. I didn’t want to make it seem like I was saying my situation is worse.”

                “And you did not. I would not think that of you. I am simply . . . sad for your loss.”

                “Well, unfortunately, so am I.” Amira ate her second truffle half. It had a surprising spicy aftertaste that she liked, but she felt like she couldn’t savor it as much now that the tone had shifted to sadness.

“It’s strange, the things I’ve had to become used to,” Amira continued after a moment. “I find myself thinking, oftentimes, _I should tell Solas I found another artifact_ ; or _I want to wander around in the Graves, I should bring Solas_ ; or _I am stressed and lonely, I wonder if Solas has already gone to bed or if he is waiting for me_.”

Cassandra blushed and gave her a _very_ fake judgmental glance at the last thought. Amira noticed a momentary quirk at the corner of her lips, though, that betrayed a smile. Amira smirked. Maybe she’d have an opportunity to turn this conversation back to fun and scandalous after all.

“Cassandra, it is _so_ infuriating to not to just _have_ someone around if I want them. To go from having someone in my bed so often to not at all—it’s almost as bad as the heartbreak.”

It wasn’t, but it made Amira feel better to say it was, and it made Cassandra blush, laugh, and then scoff. Cassandra rolled her eyes.

“You could have anyone at this very second if you wanted. Men are embarrassingly easy, especially now that everyone thinks the world is going to end soon. The fact that you are the Inquisitor is just another card to play on your behalf.”

Amira raised an eyebrow. “Cassandra, are you implying this is something you have experience with?”

“That is not what I said!” Cassandra half-shouted, but she was smiling and blushing. She shook her head. “Why, if you miss Solas so much, do you not confront him, ask him to come back to you?”

Amira sighed. “I can’t. _He_ can’t. I don’t know why he can’t, but I do believe he has good reason.”

“Then if his presence bothers you, tell him to leave.”

“We both know I can’t do that either. He’s too much an asset to the Inquisition.”

Cassandra nodded solemnly. “Does the necessity of inaction not drive you mad?”

“It does. It _absolutely_ does.” She finally ate her third half of truffle. This one was surprisingly and pleasantly sweet, with a floral taste—rosewater, maybe? “Speaking with people has helped. Speaking with you has helped.” She paused, taking another second to savor the truffle. “I spoke with Cullen as well, which was nice.”

“Oh?” Cassandra asked, looking at Amira with interest. Amira was confused.

“He and I speak often. I consider him one of my better friends. I was—it was the first time I had run into Solas since we . . . parted ways. Varric tried to stop me on my way to speak to him, and I should have listened, but there I stood, and then I _complimented his mural_ and he told me he was _glad I liked it_ and it was terrible, Cassandra, just absolutely terrible. I had to escape. I just, I walked as quickly as I could out of the room with the mural and through to Cullen’s office.” Amira laughed, remembering the situation. “I walked into his office so quickly he seemed startled. He thought someone had been chasing me. It was nice, though. He’s always quiet about Solas—he’s never liked him, really—but it was good to talk with him nonetheless.”

“That is good,” Cassandra said, but she looked distracted. She finished her two truffle halves quickly. “I am glad to hear you have found some respite.”

“Cassandra?”

Cassandra snapped back to focus. “I apologize. I was distracted by something.”

“No apology is necessary. Thank you for talking to me, Cassandra.”

“Of course. I am happy to talk whenever you’d like.”

The conversation dwindled into small talk for about another half an hour before Cassandra left, thanking Amira for sharing the truffles. Amira spent the rest of the night in the courtyard, tending to her newly planted seeds and staring up at the stars, feeling slightly better than she had all week.

 

Cassandra, meanwhile, had an agenda. She walked quickly from Amira’s quarters through the main tower, looking over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being followed. She was relieved to see Varric still at the table where he usually sat. Cassandra sat down purposefully across from him.

Varric looked up from whatever he was writing.

“Always a pleasure, Seeker—assuming you’re not here to yell at me. If you are, I’m very, very busy at the moment.”

“I am not.”

He set down his quill. “Then what’s the occasion?”

Cassandra huffed. She looked at him sternly.

“I need your help.”


	6. The Plan

Varric’s satisfied smirk almost made Cassandra regret her decision to speak with him. Almost. He was just the only person who could think of who knew how to help in this circumstance. If his books said anything about him at least.

                He sat back, hands behind his head. “You need my help?”

                “Yes. Do not make me regret asking you.”

                He held his hands out defensively. “No need to get hostile so fast, Seeker. Now, exactly what kind of help do you need?”

                Cassandra looked back over her shoulder, making sure Amira wasn’t wasn’t headed towards them. She kept her eye on the door to Amira’s quarters and said, quietly, “I need you to help me get Amira together with Commander Cullen.”

                “Oh, match-making now, are we?”

                Cassandra turned her head so quickly her neck almost hurt. She hadn’t seen Dorian come through the door and apparently join them. She looked at Varric, furious, and then back to Dorian.

                “This does not concern you, Pavus,” she said, glaring.

                “Excuse me, but I do not believe you have the monopoly on friendship with the Inquisitor, Ms. Pentaghast, just as Varric does not have the monopoly on devious schemes.”

                “This is a sensitive matter. I do not want everyone in Skyhold hearing of this.”

                “I have no plans to shout Inquisition secrets to all of Skyhold, Cassandra, and if you do not think this is relevant to the Inquisition as a whole, you would be sorely mistaken.”

                Cassandra sighed, frustrated, as Dorian sat down next to her.

                “So, Seeker, why the Commander?” Varric asked.

                “She is—she enjoys his company.”

                “He thinks of her,” Cole said, appearing suddenly beside her. Cassandra half-shouted and jumped, putting a hand over her heart. “Like a song stuck in his head. He thinks of other things but she is always there, floating around in the back of his mind, sometimes soft as a breeze but always a constant melody, her voice and her laugh, she slips between lines of text and numbers to remind him of her smile, distracting, but good, she is the distraction that is good.”

                “We _do not need_ more assistance on this, Cole, but _thank you_ ,” Cassandra said through gritted teeth.

                “Seeker, did you even listen to what the kid said? He’s talking about _Cullen_ ,” Varric said, ruffling Cole’s hair appreciatively.

                “Helpful as always, Cole,” Dorian said with a grin. Cassandra tried not to roll her eyes. “So what you’re saying is that our ever-stoic Commander has a heart beneath all that metal?”

                “He has a heart,” Cole said. “It is how his blood travels through his body.”

                “Ah. Right. Too literal. My mistake. I meant _feelings_. Specifically, for our beloved Inquisitor.”

                “So it would seem,” Varric said. “So, Cassandra, how do you propose we go about setting these two up?”

                Cassandra shifted uncomfortably. “I—I thought that was where _you_ would come in.”

                Varric laughs. “You don’t even have a plan?”

                Cassandra blushed. “This is _not_ my area of expertise.”

                “Well, unfortunately, I only write about fictional characters, not my friends. It’s a lot easier when you have direct control over how the players react.”

                “I might have an idea or two,” Dorian said, looking pensive. “Cassandra, we already know Cullen is interested. Are we not positive Amira is?”

                “She is still heartbroken over Solas. I do not know if she ready to pursue anyone else.”

                “But you want to set her up regardless.”

                “I think she could . . . use the distraction.”

                “I can help,” Cole said. “I can tell her things and then make her forget.”

                “Out of the question,” Cassandra said firmly. To her surprise, Dorian nodded.

                “I think she may be right in this regard, Cole. I am sure we will put you to good use, though. Hm.” Dorian stood up and started pacing dramatically, hand stroking his chin. “So. We need to set them up, but Amira would not take kindly to pure facts in her current position. Therefore, we must make her realize her desire for him somehow. _Hm_. Varric, have you ever played Cullen in a game of Wicked Grace?”

                Varric scoffed. “Right, Mr. Stress and Plans plays cards with me almost as often as Mother Giselle.”

                Dorian nodded. “We need to find out how well he gambles. I assume he plays chess. He seems the chess-playing type.” He stopped in his tracks, looked at the group with a grin, and said, “I have further research to conduct. I will speak with you both as soon as I have more information.”

                He walked past them and through the door, looking pleased with himself. Cassandra groaned.

                “Do you have _any_ idea what he has up his sleeve?” she asked.

                Varric looked excited. “If he’s thinking what I’m thinking—’’

                “He is,” Cole chimed in.

                “And what is _that_?”

                “—it’s going to be both effective _and_ hilarious.”


	7. Wicked Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heads up first smut

Amira could tell everyone was starting to get antsy. They had taken care of Samson. Amira had helped all of her friends in every way she knew how. She’d done a decent job at avoiding Solas, and avoiding conversation when they did run into each other. The only thing left to do was to take down Corypheus. The problem was that she couldn’t get herself to strike. Every time she thought on it, she just became anxious. It wasn’t about Corypheus either, really—she’d long since prepared herself for what might come of facing him directly. She was worried about what would happen to the Inquisition—no, to her friends.

She had never been close to her clan back before Haven. They had never treated her well, given her magical abilities, but they had never treated her poorly enough to give her reason to leave, either. The Inquisition was so different than what she had experienced growing up—here, she had people who would give her advice, people who would laugh and joke with her, people who would be there when she needed to confide in someone or discuss her troubles. The closer they got to defeating Corypheus, the closer they got to so many of her friends leaving. She didn’t know what the Inquisition would be after all of this. She didn’t want everyone to leave now that she finally felt like she had a family.

It was selfish, and she knew that, and she hated herself for it.

She had stayed mostly to herself, save for seeking out Cullen, Dorian, Sera, or Cassandra when her mind wandered back to that day with Solas and she needed a distraction before her heart started to ache too badly. That pain had started, barely, to subsist, but it still shot through her when she least expected it. She hated the thought that after losing him, she was now going to lose some of her dearest friends as well. She’d stayed away from speaking with them any more than she absolutely needed to, especially with how unexpectedly sad most of her conversation with Cassandra had been.

She was returning late one night from a “mission” in the Graves, which had really been an excuse to gather more herbs for their garden, when Varric stopped her before she could retreat to her quarters.

“Hey, Inquisitor, wait,” he said, holding out a hand. He looked pleased about something.

“Is there something you need?” she asked.

“Yes. We all need you to kick back.” It was more straightforward than usual. Amira crossed her arms. “Listen, we’ve all noticed how tightly wound you’ve been. We understand it. Things have been . . . rough. But we’re worried about you, alright? The point is, we were all just about to sit down for a game of Wicked Grace. Join us.”

Amira sighed. “I can’t, Varric. I have too many things to do right now.”

Varric rolled his eyes and gave her a skeptical, sarcastic grin. “Right. I’m sure that elfroot is _very_ important right now.”

“If I don’t transplant it, it will die, and then we won’t have a steady supply for when we need to make potions.”

“And I’m sure you’re the only person here who knows how to transplant elfroot. Including our herbalist.”

Damn. He had here there. She sighed.

“You’re not going to let me out of this, are you?”

“Damn right I’m not. It’s for your own good. And probably mine, in the long run—I never lose a game. Usually.”

Amira chuckled. “Fine, fine. I’ll get someone to transplant the elfroot.”

“Perfect. Meet us in the Herald’s Rest.”

Amira nodded and headed off towards the courtyard. Varric walked quickly to the tavern, praying to Andraste that Dorian had successfully convinced Josephine to convince Cullen to join them, even though he always said how busy he was. He also hoped Cassandra was successful in getting Blackwall to join them—he’d seen the glances that had passed between Josephine and Blackwall recently, and he’d figured, well, two birds one stone.

He was relieved to find everyone in the tavern as they should be. Cassandra got up from the table and approached him as soon as he entered.

“Is she coming?” she asked, looking tense.

“She’s coming.”

“And you’re sure this will work?”

“Oh, definitely not. I think Dorian knows what he’s doing, though. And even if it doesn’t, I think it’s still important for her to get out every now and then.”

Cassandra nodded. “This is true. I—thank you. For your help.”

“Any time, Seeker.”

They took their seats, and soon after, Amira joined them, looking pleasantly surprised at the group that had assembled. They all greeted her enthusiastically as she joined. She focused on Cullen for a moment, giving him a surprised smile.

“I didn’t think you’d be joining us, Cullen,” she said. He crossed his arms.

“I shouldn’t be,” he said. “There’s far too much to be doing right now.”

“Oh, calm down, Curly,” Varric said. “Relax a little. I think you can spare one evening to play a game of Wicked Grace with your friends. Besides, who knows? You might even make a profit.”

“Not if I have any say in that,” Josephine said with a chuckle, dealing them in.

 

It was exactly what Amira needed. She ordered the table a few bottles of wine, delighted that everyone save for Cassandra and Blackwall joined her in at least one drink. She listened to everyone’s stories, laughing hysterically at Cullen’s and riveted, sitting forward in her chair when Varric told his. She played her hands carelessly, fine with the notion of losing all of the funds she’d brought along to bet with.

She was fine with losing, at least, to a point. Cullen did not seem to share this threshold.

She had no idea how very, _very_ competitive Cullen was. Even when he ran out of coins, he seemed intent on somehow winning it all back.

“But you have nothing left with which to bet, Commander,” Josephine said gleefully from behind a pile of everyone’s money.

“Oh, I’m . . . not so sure about that,” Dorian said, his voice oily slick.

“What are you trying to propose?” Cullen asked. He looked skeptical, but his arms were crossed and he seemed determined.

“I think what he’s trying to say is that if you’ve got no _coins_ to use,” Bull said with a laugh, “you’re gonna have to pay with the clothes off your back.”

“You _can’t_ be serious,” Cullen said in a deadpan.

“Why?” Varric asked, smirking. “Are you afraid you’re going to wind up losing that, too?”

“Absolutely not!” Cullen said indignantly. He looked at Josephine seriously. “Deal me another hand.”

“As you wish, Cullen.”

“Bull, I’m sure you have some positively _dastardly_ stories of your travels with the Chargers,” Dorian said, stroking Bull’s hand delicately with a few fingers—a gesture far too affectionate for a sober Dorian. Bull did not seem to mind as he smiled and started in on a story.

Amira was on her third glass of wine, and she was quickly feeling the effect of it. She’d drank hardly anything in so long that three glasses was apparently her new threshold from warmed to just past tipsy. She found herself simply observing her group of friends instead of listening to Bull’s story. She wanted to remember this night as best she could, almost regretting the wine—almost.

She was immediately snapped back to the moment when she heard a clang on the table followed by laughter. Cullen’s breastplate, complete with feathery epaulettes and draped red cloth, was on the table. He was left in a tightly-fitting white linen undershirt.

“This means nothing,” he said, crossing his arms. “I will win that back.”

“Of course,” Josephine said, struggling to pull the breastplate on to her pile of winnings. With a warm chuckle, Blackwall got up, came over, and helped. “Another hand, then?”

“Absolutely.”

Amira blinked. She had never seen Cullen in anything other than his full armor. She took another sip of wine and tried to listen back in to Bull’s story.

It wasn’t five minutes before Cullen had lost another hand. He pulled off his undershirt, looking a combination of insistent and slightly self-conscious. Josephine laughed and Dorian made some flirtatious comment, but Amira could not for the life of her process his words. She was far too distracted.

She knew Cullen was strong. Clearly he was strong. He was a templar. He wore extremely heavy armor as if it were pajamas. She didn’t know why she hadn’t expected him to _look_ so strong. She could see the muscles in his shoulder, his chest—and yet, he was also less bulky, leaner, than she had expected. Without his armor, his build looked more athletic than brute strength. He looked practiced, agile. His skin was peppered with long streaks of white scars, which she liked; anymore, her skin was almost as scarred as his, and she had been extremely self-conscious of that before now.

Realizing her blatant stare, she took another long sip of wine, blushed, and looked to Dorian. She immediately realized he had been watching her. He gave her a smirk and a raised eyebrow. She turned away from him to pay attention to Cole and Blackwall instead.

It wasn’t long before Cullen was stripped down to his smallclothes and then down to nothing, making everyone turn away (and yelling at Dorian when he didn’t) as he stood to remove his trousers and smalls. Amira found her eyes continually falling back on Cullen as he kept playing Josephine, struggling to shift her gaze to whatever conversation was being had. He was just . . . distracting.

It wasn’t that she was infatuated with Cullen, she decided. She just hadn’t been around a naked body other than hers in what already felt like so long. It was a normal reaction for her pulse to be quick, her skin to be warm, her smallclothes to be damp, her eyes to stray. It would have been the same if it had been Dorian or Josephine or Bull or likely even Blackwall in Cullen’s position. It was natural to be distracted. It was natural to look at him and imagine her lips on that strong neck, those strong shoulders—

People were standing up and leaving. Amira blinked quickly, realizing she was the last one to leave. Cullen looked at her, but she couldn’t read the expression—she was too panicked and embarrassed. She stood and left, stopping to speak with Varric before she left.

The conversation with him was sobering and meaningful. She truly did appreciate what the night had been, and she knew it was a break she needed.

She was glad to have her head cleared of Cullen as she walked back to her quarters, swaying just slightly with her minor inebriation. On the walk, she thought about how much she regretted holing herself up, not letting her see her friends just because she was afraid of losing them. If tonight proved anything, she thought, it was that she needed to see her friends and relax more often. As she left the tavern, she decided she wanted to catch up with Scout Harding, who she hadn’t seen in so long—but the moment she saw Krem, leaning with a cool casualness against the wall of the tavern while Harding blushed over something he said, she decided she’d speak with Harding later instead.

She got to the tower. She’d have to ask Varric soon about whether or not he’d been writing about anything recently. She’d have to inquire about Krem and Harding to Bull—and while she was at it, she’d have to ask Josephine about whether or not there was something between her and Blackwall.

She entered her quarters. Chocolates with Cassandra had been nice—maybe she’d ask Josephine where she’d gotten them and pick up more, invite Cassandra to talk again soon. And Cole, she loved speaking with Cole about anything, really. And Cullen—

Amira felt her breath quicken immediately, her mind flashing back to images of his bare chest and shoulders and back, the determined smile on his face, his laugh when he’d told his story. She felt herself becoming more and more wet almost immediately.

She tried to ignore it. She took off her clothes, feeling much too tired and tipsy to find a nightshirt to change into. She blew out her various candles, her room lit only by the stars. She got into bed in just her smallclothes, relishing the feeling of fine sheets on bare skin—a feeling she’d gone without for far too long.

She closed her eyes and tried to find sleep. She was exhausted, but the space between her thighs was too warm and urging for her to drift off. She was incredibly frustrated. It was no wonder she was so distracted by Cullen—she just hadn’t slept with anyone in so long. She’d have to appease herself, yet again.

Amira had not touched herself thinking of anyone but Solas since before they had even kissed. Her mind immediately conjured an image of him over her from one of their more exciting nights together, just out of habit, as her hand moved down her body, rubbing against her wet smalls.

But her mind would not linger on that image. Instead, it drifted back to images that had flashed in her mind during the game of cards. She envisioned herself against Cullen’s bare chest, her mouth on his neck, moving down to his collar bone where she nibbled lightly, moving her hands up and down his muscled torso.

She slid off her smalls, running a finger across herself before parting her lips and moving her fingers to her clit, working in small, slow circles at first.

She pictured him undoing her shirt, throwing it off of her carelessly, pulling her close and cupping a breast with one hand, the other running up and down her bare back slowly as he kissed her neck. She imagined him pushing her down delicately on to her bed, stripping down to nothing, pulling off her trousers and smallclothes, and running a hand down his hard length, smirking at her teasingly.

Her hand sped up, her circles becoming less precise and controlled the wetter she became. She fought against a low moan, keeping it to a muffled sigh.

She pictured him thrusting into her, slowly at first, _painfully_ slowly, before suddenly quickening his pace, thrusting into her quickly and deep, pictured herself moaning, pictured his pleased and surprised smile at the sound—

Hips bucking, moaning loudly, a wave of dizzying pleasure throbbed through her body. She continued rubbing herself until she could no longer stand it, trying to stifle her moans completely in vain. Her skin was incredibly sensitive; she felt each small breeze as it ran over her skin, whispering past her hardened, sensitive nipples, cooling the beads of sweat that had formed on her. With one final moan she let her hand, now sore, rest against herself. Her arched back fell hard against the mattress. She pushed a few locks of hair away from her sweaty brow and tried to even her breath as she stretched out on the bed, adjusting herself so she was fully under the covers her bucking had thrown off of her. She nuzzled her pillow, picturing Cullen’s chest underneath her, and she fell asleep almost instantly.


	8. The Final Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay but indentation or no indentation?

                Ever since the game of Wicked Grace, Cullen had a difficult time seeking anyone out for conversation, let alone Amira. He knew he shouldn’t have let Dorian convince him to do anything competitive; he always let his need to win overrule his judgment when it came to things like this. And now, he had made a complete fool of himself. He decided that instead of talking to Amira after that game, he should keep to himself and never speak to anyone again.

                He regretted the decision to hide away in shame the second Amira’s mark started glowing at the war table. He stared at her as she looked out the window behind him. She didn’t look scared, just determined; he tried to do the same.

                He tried to convince her to wait. There was no way she could do this without his soldiers behind her. She’d accomplished tremendous feats before but this—this was something else entirely. He knew from Amira’s furious expression that his request was in vain.

                “I need to go find my team,” she said, turning to leave.

                “I can find them,” Leliana offered. “You take the time you need to prepare yourself. Josie, find somewhere safe.”

                “I am not some—’’´Josephine started to protest, but Leliana stopped her with a sharp glare.

                “ _Find somewhere safe_.”

                Josephine paused and then nodded before leaving the room. Amira started to leave with her.

                “Wait,” Cullen said feebly, before he knew what he was doing. Amira and Morrigan both looked at him, but upon seeing him look at Amira, Morrigan gave Cullen a knowing look.

                “Inquisitor, I will be awaiting your orders. I recommend _not_ dallying,” Morrigan said before leaving.

                “What is it, Cullen?” Amira asked, looking frustrated that he had stopped her.

                “This could—be careful.”

                “I appreciate the thought but not is _really_ not the time for warnings. You know I will be careful. I always am. But I need to do this, and I need to do this now.”

                “There’s no way I can convince you to wait for my men?”

                “No. I’m sorry. There isn’t.”

                “Then, please,” he said, reaching into a pocket and handing her a small coin, “take this. It’s silly, but it’s just—it’s a good luck token. My brother gave it to me. And I imagine you could use all the luck you can get right now. I know it’s stupid and that it’s just a coin, but—’’

                “Thank you.”

                There was a pause. Amira put the coin into her sleeve, just past her wrist.

                “You’re right,” she said. “I can use all the luck I can get. Thank you. And you be careful too. I’m not the only one in danger here.”

                Cullen nodded. “I will be.”

                “And make sure everyone here is fine.”

                “Of course.”

                Amira hugged him, tightly and quickly, and then she was off.

 

                Cullen’s job was to keep people calm and orderly on the small chunk of land, but he hadn’t been separated with hardly any men—twelve, he counted, over and over to make sure everyone was still fine, that nobody had fallen off or done anything stupid. The inactivity, the lack of ability to get anything done, was infuriating, and each moment that passed made him more anxious. The lack of tasks to carry out made him slip slowly away from his mindset of Commander Cullen and more into the mindset of Cullen Rutherford, actual person with actual fears. He still kept his outward demeanor calm, like, like he knew to, like he had trained himself to do so long ago.

                “She’ll be alright,” a voice said suddenly beside him, and Cullen immediately drew his sword. His twelve men were on their feet almost as quickly, which gave him a small surge of pride before the shock at seeing it was only Cole. The boy was starting to grow on Cullen—he was one of Amira’s closest friends here, and he trusted her judgment—but popping up whenever he damn well wanted and scaring to life out of Cullen certainly wasn’t helping.

                “She’ll be alright,” Cole repeated. Cullen took a deep breath in and ran a hand through his hair, sheathing his sword again. He motioned for his men to stand down.

                “The Inquisitor?”

                “Amira.”

                Cullen looked at Cole suspiciously. He knew Cole said things for very specific reasons. He was sure the correction wasn’t insignificant. It made him uncomfortable, that small glimpse into his mind, but his need for reassurance outweighed his discomfort.

                “I thought you couldn’t . . . _see_ her,” he said, not knowing exactly how to phrase it.

                Cole shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t see Solas anymore, either. I can see Sera, but she doesn’t want me to. Neither does Bull. But I can see Dorian. He is worried. Behind you, amatus—get up, get up, please—and then he is up, horns up he says and it’s growing on him. He is happy Amira considers him a friend. From here, she looks like a storm, lightning lights up and he loses, he will lose, and they will live.”

                Cullen wished there was some pattern to how Cole spoke. The erratic patterns, the jumping point of view, always made it hard for him to decipher. “So, she’s fine, yes? The Inquisitor?”

                “Amira.”

                “ _Is Amira fine?_ ”

                “From here, she looks like a storm. He is happy Amira considers him a friend; how long would he last were that storm pointed at him? Yes. She is fine.”

                “Can you tell the others—Leliana, Josephine—’’

                “You need it more.”

                Cullen tensed. He looked over his shoulder at his men. A few were looking over at them, but most seemed to be very purposefully avoiding them.

                “Cole, I _need_ you to go tell Leliana and Josephine.”

                “She carries your coin. Dorian saw it. She looked at it before the fight.”

                Cullen crossed his arms. “Cole, I need you to tell Leliana and Josephine that the Inquisitor is fine _now_.”

                “It is working. It works.”

                “ _Cole_ ,” Cullen said, in a low, fierce growl.

                “I will tell them. But you needed this. And I wanted to help.”

                Cullen sighed. “You—you did. Thank you, Cole. I just need everyone else to stay informed as well. They deserve that much.”

                And then, Cole was gone. When Cullen turned to his men, it looked like they had never even known he was there, and he hoped Cole would hear his silent gratitude.

 

                When the ground started healing itself underneath their feet, Cullen knew Amira had done it—she had actually managed to take down Corypheus. He snapped back into action, making sure the movement and collision of land didn’t injure any more than they had already lost. As soon as Skyhold had become Skyhold once more, he was searching through troops, making sure the injured were being escorted to their infirmary, and finding Leliana and Josephine.

                “She has defeated him,” Leliana said immediately, her voice heavy with reverence. “She has done it.”

                “We need to greet her as her advisors,” Josephine said. Cullen was relieved that she was already in the mindset of what needed to get done. “We can speak with her as friends afterwards. Right now, we need to uphold the appearance of the Inquisitor and Skyhold.”

                Cullen nodded. “I’ll have one of my men usher them in.”

                “We should greet them on the landing and have the Inquisitor make a small speech, if she is able.”

                “There is one small problem,” Leliana said, her voice now back to professionalism as well. “My agents say that Solas is gone.”

                There was a tense pause before Leliana continued.

                “They don’t know when he left, but they have searched everywhere they can. He has left no trace. It seems he is . . . set on not being found.”

                “Why?” Cullen said, and his frustrated voice gave his fall out of professionalism away.

                “I do not know, but I _will_ find out. I will tell the Inquisitor when she arrives.”

                “For now, we all have work to do,” Josephine said. “Cullen, have your men alert me when the Inquisitor is approaching Skyhold. Leliana, I am sure you will already be aware.”


	9. Celebration

                That night, Cullen retreated to his office early. He’d spoken to Amira briefly, thankfully, but she had so many others to attend to, and he didn’t want to take up her time. He’d talk to her soon, thank her for everything, tell her how much—tell her that her drive and courage were things he aspired to. For tonight, he wanted her to celebrate and be with those who had marched and fought beside her for so long. Besides, while she’d told him tonight was for celebration, he really did have quite a lot of work to do.

                He wished he could be down in the hall, celebrating with the others, seeing Amira smile and laugh. He wished he could pull her into his arms, hold her, just happy that she was safe—that he could tell her how happy he was that she was safe. That he could tell her that he was sick of worrying about her, always, that all he wanted was for her to stay like this, just to stay happy, just to stay safe.

                He looked at the papers on his desk that he could barely focus on and tried to convince himself that he was here because of the work, not because of his fear for what he might say caught up in the thrill of triumph and celebration.

                His door opened with a quiet click and creak. He looked up to see Amira poking her head in. He blushed instantly.

                “Oh—good, you’re not asleep!” she said, a wide grin on her face.

                “Inquisitor! Please, come in,” he said, standing up in formality and then feeling ridiculous to have done so. He sat back down, looking embarrassed.

                “Please,” she said, sitting down across from him, “no more ‘Inquisitor’ after the formalities from tonight.”

                “Of course. I apologize.”

                Amira looked at his desk and then glared incredulously at him.

                “Cullen,” she said, “please tell me that you are _not_ working right now.”

                “. . . I don’t wish to lie to you.”

                “Cullen! Absolutely not! I will not have it!” She collected the papers on his desk, ignoring his protests, stacked them together, and set them on the floor beside her. She sat back down, crossing her arms, ignoring his small, broken voice say, “There was a _system_. . .”

                “You are not allowed to leave a celebration for _the end of the world not happening_ to come do work. I thought you had gone to sleep, which would have been a perfectly acceptable reason to leave, but work? Absolutely not.”

                “I—there’s just so much to do—’’

                “And it can wait!”

                She looked genuinely angry.

                “I’m sorry,” Cullen said. “It was selfish.”

                “No, it was incredibly _selfless_ , and while that’s usually admirable, it is completely unnecessary right now. Maker, Cullen, allow yourself to relax for once.”

                Her tone and face had softened. She know looked at him with a grin that was more sympathetic than accusatory.

                “I still apologize. Forgive me.”

                “Always,” she said, so quickly it seemed almost instinct. Cullen’s heart leapt suddenly, and he tried to calm its newfound rapid beating. “But I didn’t come here to yell at you.”

                “Thank the Maker for that. I hear you were quite a force on the battlefield. I wouldn’t want to be on your bad side.”

                “Never,” she said, just as simply as she had said “always.” His heart started back up again. He tried again to calm it; if his last joke had proven anything, it was that indulging his feelings was allowing him to become more confident and casual, not more on guard. He had left the celebrations for a reason; he could not allow himself to speak as freely as he would like right now.

                “What did you come here for, then?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level.

                “I wanted to thank you, and give you this back,” she said, pulling the coin out of her sleeve and smiling at him. “Here I am, so I believe it worked.”

                “Please,” he said, “keep it. Think of it as a token of . . . gratitude.”

                Amira looked like she was going to protest for a moment, but then the two of them locked eyes. The room was silent, save for a breeze over the shambles of ceiling in his tower. The eye contact seemed tense and urgent, and Cullen felt his own silence thick with words unsaid. He felt his heart beating faster again. He felt connected to her in this moment more than he had felt with anyone in so long—if ever at all. Her eyes conveyed her feelings: she looked touched, genuinely, by something he had said, and the roles having been reversed in this made his silence feel unbearable. Usually, he was the one to be moved by her. He could feel the words forming behind his lips before he even knew what they would be. He needed her to speak soon, he could feel himself becoming brazen, now was not the time now was _not_ the time—

                “Thank you,” she said, before quickly continuing, “You said this was from your brother, which reminds me to tell you that you should write Mia. I’m sure she would be delighted by simply, ‘Dear Mia, the world has not ended. I am fine and not dead.’”

                Cullen chuckled. “Fine, fine. I will do so at once.”

                “Cullen! Writing letters to your family counts as work! Come back to the celebration with me. Let yourself relax. Talk with the others, eat something, have a drink.”

                “I—’’

                “And here I thought you _didn’t_ want to be on my bad side,” she said with a devious smirk. Cullen looked at it, blinked, and had no thoughts beside a profound “ _Maker’s breath_ ” at how much that smirk made his heart race. He felt himself harden just slightly and, blushing, tried to focus on anything else.

                “If I don’t write the letter now, I will forget,” he said.

                “Absolutely not. Come with me this instant.”

                He sighed with faked reluctance, trying for humor as he grasped desperately for something else to think of but her smirk and the phrase, “Come with me this instant.” He had been working on compiling lists of damages seen at Skyhold after the battle. He needed to prioritize which ones to fix first. The battlements needed serious work, but they shouldn’t be used as consistently as some of the grounds, which would require simple fixes anyway. He felt his blush dissipate and his heartrate return to normal, thanking the Maker profusely as they did so.

                By the time he had returned to normal, they had entered the room adjacent to the hall, and Amira’s pace had slowed. She stopped in her tracks, turned, and blinked.

                “He finished it,” she said, so quietly Cullen could hardly hear. He followed her gaze. The last section of Solas’s mural had been filled in. “When did he do this?”

                “I’m sorry,” Cullen said, but Amira surprised him by shaking her head and looking at him with a familiar grin.

                “I am too, but I don’t think he is allowed to be on my mind right now. I don’t think he deserves as much. I can feel this later; tonight, I deserve celebration.”

                Cullen beamed at her. “You do.”

                She gave him a single nod before walking through the room and into the hall, the hall filling with shouts and applause the moment she walked back in. There was more applause for Cullen as he reentered with her, which surprised him. Amira gestured for him to join her at the table, opening a bottle of wine, and as he sat there between her and Josephine, the realization of tonight’s success fully dawning on him, seeing the smile on Amira’s face, he couldn’t be happier to have come back to celebrate.


	10. The Agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This next tiny arc will be inspired by Khirsah's "As the World Falls Down," but very very very loosely; it's such a good fic, and I'd highly recommend it. Mostly, I just think it makes so much sense that a ball would be held after the defeat of Corypheus. If you haven't read "As the World Falls Down" yet, please do. :)

“We are receiving much pressure,” Josephine said. “Otherwise, I would not even suggest. I _am_ aware of your feelings on the matter.”

                The four of them were around the war table. It was late; unfortunately, the work had anything but let up since Corypheus was taken down. There was less to do out in the field. Almost all of their work was held to meetings with foreign officials within Skyhold or at the war table. Amira hadn’t been to the Approach in weeks, and the Graves even longer. She missed it desperately. She was already getting stir-crazy here in the castle.

                It didn’t help that she was finally needing to accept the fact that Solas was gone, and that he wouldn’t be returning. It didn’t help that to get to the library, to talk to Leliana, to talk with Cullen, she almost always had to walk through the room with the mural, the room where she had come to speak with Solas or steal him away.

                Josephine, Leliana, Cullen, and Amira were all exhausted at this point. They’d already scheduled and re-scheduled meetings for the upcoming month. They’d already debated about which officials needed a higher priority than others and why (this debate was held largely without Amira, who couldn’t keep he names straight, let alone know much of their significance).  The debate that had lasted the last hour and half was over something much, much more concerning.

                Josephine had proposed that the Inquisition needed to host a proper celebration. A ball. She wanted the final battle memorialized with grandeur. Amira and Cullen wanted nothing to do with it.

                “It’s a waste of time,” Cullen said, and Amira nodded sleepily in agreement. “We have others matters that need to be taken care of first.”

                “Like what?” Leliana asked, rolling her eyes. She had pulled over a chair, and her legs were crossed. Her foot tapped in the air impatiently. The casual assurance with which she held herself made Amira uncomfortable; Leliana looked like she knew she’d already won.

                “Like—like making sure the refugees in the Hinterlands, in Emprise du Lion—we haven’t scouted the Graves thoroughly enough for—’’

                “Cullen, is this not what your soldiers are for?” Josephine asked with a sigh. “They have had little to do since the battle. Send them on these missions. I am sure they will be happy for the work.”

                “But we don’t want it to seem like a military action, right?” Amira asked, grasping. “We don’t want it to seem aggressive. Wouldn’t it be better if I make myself known to them, be the face of the Inquisition and show that we are not hostile?”

                “Inquisitor, I mean no disrespect, but you are wasting our time and you know it,” Leliana said. She had sat up, leaning forward slightly. She made direct eye contact with Amira, and Amira knew she was serious now. “This is not Haven. This is not when we first found Skyfall. This is not before the Winter Palace, before the Grey Wardens, or before Corypheus. You are known. The face of the Inquisition is known. You will not delay action that needs to be taken because you find it unpleasant.”

                Cullen sighed in resignation. Amira blushed, embarrassed.

                “Fine,” she said, “fine. Can I have some conditions, at the very least?”

                “It depends on the conditions,” Leliana said coolly.

                “I understand that I will need to host the event. I understand that I will need to make conversation. Is there _any_ way I could not have to play Inquisitor the entire time? It’s terrifying, and I am terrible at it. I can give speeches, but I am not well-versed in The Game, as much as you both would like me to be. It’s not for a lack of trying. It truly isn’t. It just isn’t within my nature.”

                Leliana and Josephine looked at each other, some sort of silent conversation held in subtle changes in facial expression passing between them. Josephine looked stern; Leliana looked slightly disgusted, but nodded once.

                “In traditional Orlesian custom, it will be a masquerade, of course,” Josephine said. “You will make a speech before the festivities. Important meetings will be held prior to the beginning of the ball. Appointments will also be scheduled before the ball. When the ball begins, it will be known that you will be masked—that all of the important figures of the Inquisition will be masked. It will add an . . . air of drama and mystery to the event. The Orlesians will love it, the notion of _perhaps_ having met with the Inquisitor.”

                “Won’t that lead to a large group of people claiming to be me?” Amira asked.

                “Or any of us?” Cullen added.

                Leliana smirked. “Well, of course. And you will have to deal with those people in future meetings, no doubt. But I fear this is the necessary cost of you wanting the ability to escape formalities at a silly ball.”

                Amira looked at her skeptically. “Leliana, I was at Halamshiral—The Winter Palace. I am aware that balls are not silly.”

                “Then perhaps you should take this more seriously,” Leliana said, her smirk staying firm.

                This time, it was Amira and Cullen’s turn for a silent conversation. They looked at each other, and Cullen gave her a look that was near to desperate. She knew he wanted to escape this as much as she did. Cassandra would want out of it as well. The others would be able to have their fun and socialize. She’d be stuck in Skyhold for longer, almost certainly, but she wouldn’t have to dance, entertain, and act like she knew people of lofty status by virtue only of their inheritances.

                “This will do,” Amira said with a nod.

                “Thank the Maker,” Josephine said under her breath, rolling her eyes just slightly.

                “Can we _please_ conclude this meeting?” Leliana asked.

                They looked to Cullen, who usually kept them longer with more work to do. It seemed as though his list were endless. He looked at them and said, reluctantly, “Yes, I suppose that will do for tonight.”

                “Try to be optimistic,” Josephine said to Amira and Cullen with a renewed smile. “It will be fun. The ball will be held on our terms, in our castle. Perhaps a touch of elegance and romance will be refreshing.”

                Again, Cullen and Amira locked eyes, looking at each other as though they couldn’t think of anything further from the truth.


	11. The Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay but seriously indents or no indents?

                The lead up to the ball was borderline harrowing. Vivienne and Josephine were in a constant quiet, cold, passive-aggressive battle for who would dress Amira. Sera was just as furious as Amira and Cullen, especially since Josephine had told her _very strictly_ that pickpocketing was off-limits. Bull was frustrated but Dorian was very verbally pleased to do something for the Inquisition that didn’t involve snow, mud, or sand. Amira had four fittings for each of her two gowns: one to be worn for her speech (provided by Josephine) and one to be worn during the ball (provided by Vivienne). She had appointments for her hair to be _practiced on_. All the while, war table meetings had become scheduling nightmares, trying to make sure Amira could meet with all of the officials she needed to before the event and in the week after, when certain guests would stay just to meet with her.

                Decorations had started going up. The entire hall had been redecorated, the décor mostly Inquisition-based but with tiny details that blended Orlesian and Ferelden sensibilities that Amira had to admit were clever; the ball was not going to host only Orlesian nobility but important figures from Ferelden as well. Amira had insisted, both because of how much she valued those who had helped them in Ferelden and because she found it important to make clear that the Inquisition was not playing favorites.

                The ball would be held both within the hall and on the grounds. Now that spring had come, Skyhold’s snow had melted, and the nights had become bearable for long walks outside. The landscape around the castle had been tended to meticulously. Flowers had been planted, and strings of beautiful, glass, multicolored lanterns had been hung up. Amira had to admit that while she wasn’t looking forward to the ball, she was pleased to see Skyhold looking its best.

                The day of the ball, Skyhold was a blur of attendants, chatter, and colors. Cooks were coming in from all across Thedas, filling their kitchens. Attendant were cleaning, even though the castle had been kept spotless for days. Amira had meetings starting at six o’clock in the morning until six o’clock at night, two hours before the ball started, and an hour and a half before her speech. She remembered nothing from any of them, grateful that Josephine had attended to make sure thorough notes were taken. There were no breaks to eat. By the time Amira was let out, she was starving, but she hardly had time for a roll before she was ushered away to be primped.

                Amira was surprised to find that being primped by someone else was actually quite nice. Her hair and makeup had been done for the ball at Halamshiral—the Winter Palace, she needed to start calling it the Winter Palace even though she knew what it was, the Orlesian nobility wasn’t going to take kindly to calling it Halamshiral—but nothing as extensively as this. She was bathed in warm, calming water scented with roses and oils. Thick creams were rubbed into her skin, and her hair was brushed and combed delicately, her scalp massaged so nicely she almost fell asleep in the process. The makeup was the worst part; she kept accidentally blinking and messing up the work had been done to her eyes, but eventually she was finished.

                For the speech, her hair had been styled in a more elegant, adorned version of the braided updo she typically wore for the purpose of keeping her hair out of the way during battle. Amira had come up with the idea, and Josephine loved that Amira would look as though everyone had seen her when she was still going on missions herself, just dressed up. Pearl beads had been woven into her hair and the braids became intertwined with thin, velvet, deep red ribbons that matched the colors of the Inquisition. She wore matching gold earrings and a necklace, each with small red jewels dangling from them. Her gown was a pale gold, almost cream, that shimmered subtly in the right light.

                She had to admit, she looked impressive. Almost intimidating. Certainly beautiful. She usually preferred minimal polish and comfortable clothing. She’d been so used to travel that dressing for efficiency and battle that it was how she was herself anymore. As she looked in the mirror, she didn’t quite look like Amira; she looked like who Amira would be if she had grown up in luxury. She had to admit that it was a bit thrilling to see.

                With a bracing breath, she left her quarters. She was pleased to see that the hall was, for the time being, almost empty. Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana were waiting for her, all in their first outfits of the night as well. Josephine was dressed in deep purple; Leliana, a pale blue; and Cullen, a dark green coat with dark brown trousers. The three of them looked nice, but less imposing than she did—she was certain their second choices of outfit for the night would be much more ornate. The decision for them to stand behind the Inquisitor as she gave her speech in a show of solidarity had been made, meaning they both needed to change for the ball proper after the speech was given. This made Cullen even more displeased than he already was—now he would have to wear two different things in one night, neither of which were armor—but he understood the necessity of the action.

                “Inquisitor,” Leliana said with a warm smile, “you look lovely. A fine choice of gown and jewelry, Josephine.”

                “Thank you,” Josephine said, and Amira smiled, not sure whether to thank Leliana for the compliment or compliment Josephine’s choices as well.

                “We should go,” Cullen said tersely, tugging lightly at the collar on his coat. Leliana and Josephine, who both seemed in much better spirits than they had been for quite some time, shared an eyeroll behind his back. Josephine stifled a laugh.

                 The four of them walked to the stairs of the main tower. Cullen walked out first, followed by Leliana, followed by Josephine, followed by Amira. The applause from the massive crowd below—so much larger than Amira had expected—started the instant Cullen had left the hall. Amira was thankful for her practice in public speaking since becoming the Inquisitor. She gave the crowd a warm smile, and recited the speech she had prepared calmly and gracefully, her voice loud enough to carry but not quite shouting.

                “Honored guests, we welcome you to Skyhold, on this momentous occasion. Tonight, we celebrate the fall of a terror, and the dawn of a new era across Thedas. For months, the Inquisition has rallied troops, sent out military aid to those in need, and formed strong bonds and alliances with those across both Ferelden and Orlais, all in hopes to repair the scar in the sky left by Corypheus. For months, the Inquisition has trained, doing all we can to rectify the terror that the breach had brought.

                “But tonight, after those months of work and training, we celebrate our victory. We celebrate the Inquisition, and the fall of Corypheus.”

                There was booming applause, and Amira beamed. She waited until the applause had died down to continue.

                “Now that the immediate threat has passed, the Inquisitor must answer new questions. What will the Inquisition become, now that there is no mighty evil to vanquish? What will become of our men, our alliances, our bonds? The Inquisition will need to restructure, this is true, but for now, we offer this: The Inquisition will stand for peace. The Inquisition will stand for bringing hope and new beginnings.

                “We hope you will join bring in this new era of the Inquisition with us, and enjoy the celebrations at tonight’s ball. Before you ask: yes, the key figures in the Inquisition will join in the festivities tonight. However, we think we have worked quite hard enough for now. We could use the respite found in some luxury.”

                From most, there was polite chuckling; from some of the Fereldan people, some clapping and cheering.

                “Therefore, we will join you, but we will be masked as the rest of you are. If you wish to discuss anything with us, I implore you to find us in the crowd. Until then, please, friends, enjoy.”

                There was more applause, and Amira smiled at them before curtseying as well as passably as she could and heading back up the stairs to the hall. Josephine and Leliana curtseyed, Cullen bowed, and the three of them followed Amira into the hall. In the time of her speech, the chefs and attendants had laid out the food on long tables, and the scent was intoxicating—especially after a day with only a roll. Amira veered towards a table, but Josephine stopped her.

                “Ah ah, Inquisitor. You can eat after you have changed. You agreed to this plan; now, you will have to follow it,” she said.

                “How am I going to get out of my quarters without being seen?” Amira asked, looking at her door and only just realizing the predicament.

                “Oh, dear,” Leliana said, with clearly faked concern. “I suppose you might just have to be seen. What a shame. You’ll have to interact with our guests after all.”

                Amira was furious. “This was your plan the whole time,” she said.

                “Of course not, Inquisitor. We would never do such a thing,” Josephine added, but her smile and chuckles gave her away. Amira huffed, enraged.

                “Relax, Inquisitor. It will be fun.”

                “No,” she said, “it absolutely will not be. I am not like you with things like this.”

                “You will need to get used to it eventually,” Leliana said.

                “I don’t want Skyhold becoming another Halamshiral,” she said, using the title with a cutting edge. She could see Josephine tense, but Leliana sighed and softened her gaze.

                “We . . . apologize, Inquisitor,” she said. “We simply thought the festivities might be a needed break from how stressful things have been. We can create a subtle diversion so you may leave your quarters without being seen doing so. Besides, it will . . . add to the mystery.”

                “Thank you.”

                “I will have one of my people fetch you when we are ready. And Cullen! No stowing away inside your tower.”

                Amira looked behind her. Cullen, in the mix of the conversation, had slowly started walking towards his tower. He sighed sadly and grumbled a quiet “Fine.”

                Amira walked up to her quarters, her team still there, waiting to transform her for the ball. Makeup was applied heavier and darker. Her hair was let down in soft waves. She was given a mask in a fine gold filigree, and her dress— _clearly_ one from Vivienne’s seamstress—was very tight-fitting to the knees, where it flared out in tulle. The dress was a deep emerald, the fabric silken and soft. It was understated in details, the silhouette providing enough drama to make her stand out. She would have wished she wouldn’t stand out at all if she hadn’t looked in the mirror and been thoroughly pleased.

                One of Leliana’s agents came to fetch her ten minutes after she was done changing. She was escorted out into the hall, where all attention was being given to either a loud, _very_ Orlesian man telling a humorous and seemingly scandalous story or the tables of food. Nobody seemed to notice her enter. She sighed in relief before immediately heading for the food.

                She couldn’t help feeling a pang of sadness as she watched the dancing, the people laughing, people coupling off and speaking to each other quietly, intimately. The last time she had been to an event like this, she had only danced once, but that dance had mattered to her so much. She couldn’t imagine any dance here would matter at all, let alone parallel that.

                She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around. She was expecting some noble, already having figured out who she was, but she was ecstatic to see an incredibly handsome and familiar man staring back at her through an elegant mask.

                “Dorian!” she said, smiling. “I’m so happy it’s you.”

                “Yes. I’m rather happy I’m me, too.” Amira laughed. “You look lovely.”

                “Thank you, and you look marvelous as always.”

                “You always do know the best details to add when speaking to me. ‘As always.’ Such a delight. Now come, dance with me.”

                “Dorian, I haven’t eaten all day,” she protested, but Dorian shook his head.

                “And you can wait. This may be one of my last chances to be elegant with you,” he said, and then quickly continued, “at least, for quite some time while I’m away. I know your Dalish sensibilities prohibit you from any appreciation of grace, but please, humor me.”

                Amira sighed, shrugged, and took his hand. She smiled and led her to the middle of the hall, which had become a sort of impromptu ballroom for the night. The two started dancing, but the movements just brought Amira back to dancing with Solas.

                “You’re sad,” Dorian said. “I dislike that. What troubles you?”

                “The last time I was at a ball, Solas and I—’’

                Dorian cut her off with a huff. “Amira, you cannot _possibly_ still be mourning that.”

                “I’m . . . not.”

                “Good thing you found a way to weasel out of playing Inquisitor tonight. Lying that poorly, the Orlesians would eat you alive. Maybe even literally. And not in a fun way. Honestly, I don’t know how you survived the Winter Palace.”

                “Neither do I.”

                “The fact of the matter is that whatever caused him to leave, he isn’t coming back, and you know this. I will not tell you to hate him—even though you should—or to think him rubbish—even though you should—or to—’’

                “Dorian.”

                “What I _will_ tell you is that you need to move on. You have done so much good in so little time. Look at all of these people. They are all here for you, Amira—both to celebrate you and because _you saved them_. In more than one way, they would not _be_ here without you. Celebrate. Enjoy a bit of hedonism. I don’t even care if you stow away into your quarters after eating because somehow, even though you can kill a thousand darkspawn without flinching, you cannot handle a bit of civilized company. But please, do not let the ghost of some past lover occupy your mind. You are better than that, and you deserve better than that.”

                Amira looked at him and smiled. She was tearing up. She needed to hear this more than she had thought, and she hated that one of her closest friends would be leaving so soon.

                Seeing the tears in her eyes, Dorian smiled precociously and said, “Besides, anyone here would be a fool not to vie for your affection—and not simply because you are the Inquisitor.” He paused. “You’ve also been seen with someone as handsome as _I_ am. Now, anyone will consider you even looking in their direction a blessing.”

                Amira laughed a good, full laugh. Dorian looked pleased. The song ended, and Dorian walked with Amira back to the food.

                “Where’s Bull tonight?” Amira asked, taking one of the small plates and allowing it to be filled with hors d’oeuvres by a line of attendants.

                “In the Herald’s Rest for now. Didn’t see much a point in a masquerade given his rather identifiable horns. He and the Chargers see this more as a night for consuming as much free alcohol as possible. Besides Krem, that is,” he said with a grin.

                “Where is Krem, then?”

                “Why, he’s at the ball.”

                “What?”

                “With our lovely Ms. Lace Harding.”

                “No!”

                “Oh, yes.”

                “I wouldn’t have considered him the type to actually invite a woman to a ball!”

                “Amira, you forget: Krem _is_ Tevinter. It’s in his blood. Being around Bull for so many years hasn’t completely negated his civility.”

                “And how are the two of you?”

                “He is rude, uncultured, and brutish. Really, I can’t stand being around him,” Dorian said, but he grinned.

                “I’m glad to hear you’re happy.”

                “As am I. And thank you.” He paused, and then said, “Oh, look, our dear Commander has graced us with his presence. He doesn’t look happy about it.”

                Amira followed his gaze. She laughed, both because of how _obviously_ Cullen he was despite the mask and because of the small group of women that had clustered around him. If she didn’t know Cullen as well as she did, it might have been easy to mistake him for someone else, admittedly. He was now wearing a royal blue coat with silver trim and black trousers. His mask looked similar to hers, but the filigree silver. His clothes fit him well, showing his agile build, which Amira hadn’t seen since the game of Wicked Grace. A slow build of warmth in her made her realize she had missed that sight, and she blushed in embarrassment.

                Still, though, he did look like Cullen. Even though Cullen would never have dressed in such a way, his posture was too identifiably Cullen to be mistaken. The way he clasped his hands behind his back, the way his shoulders were just a _touch_ too tense to simply seem formal, gave him away immediately.

                “I believe you’ve served your time, Inquisitor,” Dorian said. “Perhaps you should rescue our Commander from the perilous threat of talking to strangers.”

                Amira chuckled. “No, no, I shouldn’t—Leliana and Josephine would have both of our heads.”

                “Come down every hour and speak with one person, and they simply can’t tell you that you left too early.”

                “Brilliant,” Amira said with a grin. “Thank you, Dorian.”

                She hugged him, and he kissed her cheek affectionately. “Do enjoy yourself tonight, Amira.”

                “I will,” she said, squeezing tight before taking her plate of food and walking towards Cullen. She had no idea how she was going to get him away from his hoard of admirers, but the dress did give her confidence. She walked up to the group of women, a head shorter than most, and cleared her throat to attract their attention. The women turned and looked at her.

                “Excuse me,” she said, and the group opened in a murmur of whispers (“ _A rabbit thinks she can speak with him?” “Hush, you! The Inquisitor is a rabbit—a Dalish, I mean.”_ ). “Ser, I believe you promised me a dance earlier this evening?”

                Cullen looked at her and blinked, blushing. Amira assumed it was from the embarrassment of having to be saved from a group of flirtatious women. He cleared his throat and said, “Yes, of course. Excuse me.”

                He offered Amira his arm and the two walked towards the dancefloor.

                “Please tell me you don’t expect me to dance,” Cullen said. “It isn’t that I wouldn’t want to, I just—’’

                “No, gods, no,” Amira said. “I don’t want to either. You just looked like you needed help.”

                “Was it that obvious?”

                “Oh, definitely.”

                Cullen chuckled. “Well, thank you for rescuing me. But what do we do know? I can feel their eyes on us.”

                “Shit. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

                “My office?”

                “I have a bottle of wine in my quarters if you’d like to join me in drinking it,” she said, her muscles tensing and her eyes widening as she realized what the implications of what she had said were. “We can drink it in—in your office!” she said, too quickly and her voice too high pitched. She felt like an imbecile.

                “That would be fantastic,” Cullen said. “I can find a way to get to my office without being too noticed. I’ll go around the back. Can you find a way to get to your quarters, get the wine, and bring it to my office unnoticed?”

                Amira looked around. She spied a shock of blond hair, a bright gold dress, and a red handkerchief.

                “I think I can find a way.”

                Cullen nodded, waited until they were in a dense crowd, and broke away from her. Amira started towards the woman in the gold dress, eating her food as quickly as she could without sticking out.

                “Sera,” she said, approaching the woman, who was greedily eyeing the jewelry on a nearby noble, “you look nice.”

                “Ew, no I don’t. Don’t say that. I hate it. It’s stupid. Ruffles wouldn’t let me wear breeches. You look pretty though. Bet Solas would regret himself now, wouldn’t he, you dressed like that. Hm. Sorry. That was supposed to be funny. You look like you need something.”

                “I do. I need to grab a bottle of wine from my quarters and take it to Cullen’s office without being noticed.”

                Sera raised an eyebrow lewdly. “You and the Commander, eh? Bet he’d love to _command_ —’’

                “What? No. We both just hate lavish parties.”

                “Oh. Well that’s less fun.”

                “Can you help me?”

                “Of course I can help you. The question is, what kind of help do you want?”

                “This party means a great deal to the Inquisition. Nothing that would make the party go poorly.”

                “Ah. You want to stealth around then, yeah? Play a good bit of hide-and-stay-away-from-the-snobs? Do you mind waiting a bit on the wine?”

                “No, not at all.”

                Sera nodded. “You let me take care of the wine. I’ll be in and out of your quarters quicker than . . . yuck. Sorry, I was thinking of jokes about Dorian and Bull and then I _pictured_ it. Anyway. You get yourself to Cullen’s office through the back way and I can bring you two the wine.”

                “Thank you,” Amira said with a smile, finishing her small plate of food and heading off through the hall.


	12. Wine and Elfroot

                Amira managed to sneak away from the festivities with only having to speak to seven people on the way. Only two of them asked if she was the Inquisitor, but three others were extremely forward with her. The last two simply wanted to know who had made her gown. Amira kept her conversations as civil and concise as possible before sneaking away once more.

                She opened the door to Cullen’s office, relieved to see that he, the wine, two glasses, and two plates piled with food were inside.

                “Oh thank the gods,” she said, sitting down across from him with a sigh and a smile. “I wasn’t there but for maybe forty-five minutes and I’m already exhausted by it all.”

                “I can sympathize,” Cullen said with a chuckle. He’d already taken his mask off. Amira took hers off as well, setting it delicately on the desk. Cullen pushed one of the plates of food towards her. “Sera brought these along with the wine,” he said. “I honestly don’t know whether or not to trust them.”

                “Did she say one of the plates was for you or me specifically?” Amira asked.

                “No?”

                “Then you’re safe. She wouldn’t harm me.”

                “Ah. Of course.” He took an hors d’oeuvres and ate it in one bite, nodding appreciatively. Amira took one and did the same, opening the bottle of wine and pouring each of them a glass.

                “I hope this wine isn’t too nice,” Cullen said, “or it’ll be wasted on me. I can never really tell the difference between a fine wine and a terrible wine, to be honest.”

                “I don’t think anyone can, really,” she said. “I’m just happy to have wine at all.”

                She handed him a glass and the two clinked them lightly together, toasting nothing verbally but a feeling of gratitude to be somewhere isolated and quiet ringing between them. Amira took a sip of the wine, rich and round and dry, and got the feeling that it was, in fact, very fine. Still, she didn’t feel as though it would be wasted on Cullen. She looked at him and noticed the bags under his eyes. He needed this drink as much as she did.

                “How have you been?” he asked. “I feel as though we’ve hardly spoken outside of the war table since the final battle.”

                “I’ve been tired,” she responded. “A little . . . what’s the opposite of homesick?”

                “Wanderlust?”

                “Yes. Wanderlust. Absolutely. I miss traveling around, being the person to help with things. I miss _seeing_ things. I’m not used to being so stationary. I love Syhold. It’s my home. I suppose I just don’t like being home for so long.”

                Cullen nodded. “I can imagine that would be a difficult adjustment.”

                “And you? How have you been?”

                “The same, I suppose—more tired than feeling wanderlust. I feel as though there is so little time for quiet here. We meet, I speak to the soldiers, I make sure everything is running as it should be, and then sometimes I sleep. It almost feels like being back with my family sometimes.”

                “Have you written Mia?” Amira asked, remembering the last time they’d talked.

                “In my defense,” Cullen started, “I _told_ you I would forget if I didn’t write it that second and you _refused_ to let me leave.”

                “Fine. I’ll write her.”

                “You will do no such thing!” Cullen said, looking embarrassed for some reason, and then looking more embarrassed for speaking to her in such a way. Amira grinned.

                “Oh, it seems I’ve found the potential for something hilarious. Afraid she’ll tell me embarrassing stories of you as a small child? Now I’m absolutely going to write her.”

                “Please don’t.”

                “Well, someone has to.”

                Cullen sighed. “I will write her. Honestly. I will.”

                “Why don’t you invite her to visit?”

                “It’s a bit of a journey for people who aren’t used to travel.”

                “An invitation wouldn’t hurt. I’m sure she’d be happy for it.”

                Cullen paused and nodded, giving Amira a smile that caught her off guard and made her blush, though she couldn’t fathom why. She just hadn’t seen him smile in some time. She took a sip of wine. It had just caught her off guard.

                “I think you’re right,” he said. “I’ll write her tomorrow.”

                “Good.”

                A tense silence hung between them. She was blushing, and now Cullen was blushing, and she was sure her blushing had made the conversation uncomfortable and she didn’t know how to fix it. She took another long sip of wine.

                Cullen looked at her as she took her sip. He took one as well, and tried not to let his gaze linger. He was blushing, he could tell, but it was difficult not to stare. She looked amazing, so regal, and yet here she was, speaking to him so casually, talking about his family and his life in such a caring way. The combination of his eyes and heart wandering without his permission was embarrassing. He hoped he was at least keeping himself somewhat subtle.

                “You look lovely, by the way,” he said, wondering how exactly he managed to ruin his attempts at subtlety so quickly. He couldn’t back down from the compliment now, though, or else it would seem strange. “It’s strange seeing you in something so formal, but it suits you.”

                “And the same to you,” she said. “You look so nice, I almost didn’t recognize you except for your professional, uncomfortable posture.” She gave him a playful grin, and he laughed.

                “Glad to hear I could pass for nobility if it weren’t for my discomfort.”

                “You could pass for it with your discomfort. Just, perhaps, a noble with back pain.”

                “From all the heavy lifting nobles do, I’m sure.”

                The two laughed. Cullen poured them both a second glass of wine.

                “It is nice. I’ll have to admit that Josephine did a lovely job with Skyhold,” Amira said. “It isn’t surprising, knowing Josephine, but it’s still somehow a surprise. A surprise that I like it as much as I do, I suppose.”

                “The lanterns are a nice touch. It’d be a controversial move, something so Antivan, if they didn’t look as good as they do.”

                “I prefer the night we defeated Corypheus, though—just all of us, some food, some drinks, and less fanfare. More intimate. That was a good night.”

                “It was.”

                “It’ll be difficult, seeing them all leave. Dorian mentioned it offhand when I spoke with him earlier. It’ll be strange for Skyhold to be so empty. To not have Dorian around to joke with, or Cassandra around for guidance. Varric’s stories and wit will be missed. Vivienne will have matters to attend to, I’m sure. Even Cole said he might return to the Fade.”

                “Well, for jokes, there’s still Sera and Bull.  For stories and wit, there’s . . . well, we’ll simply have to start purchasing Varric’s books. For guidance, Josephine and Leliana will be here. I admittedly don’t think anyone could quite contribute what Cole brings to Skyhold—nor Vivienne, for that matter. But not everyone is leaving.” He paused. “I’ll still be here.”

                Amira sighed. “You don’t need to stay on my behalf, though.”

                “I’m not. I’m staying because this is something I care about. This is somewhere I can help.”

                “I’m glad. You seem—you seem happier than you have. Tired, but happier.”

                “I am,” he said. “I’ve made mistakes in the past. Countless. I’ve lived in regret of who I was, the choices I made, for so long. But now that Corypheus has been defeated, now that the Inquisition has done so much good, it’s starting to feel . . . It’s starting to feel like I’m not that person anymore.”

                Amira furrowed her brows. “I don’t think that’s a fair thing to say about yourself.”

                “Oh,” Cullen said quietly. She was right. He still had work to do before he could think of himself as anything other than the one who had failed so many times before.

                “No—I didn’t mean that you haven’t done good things and helped. You have. But I think it’s unfair to separate yourself like that. You’re not a different person. You’re the same person, _despite_ who you used to be. It’s . . . there’s this once-was castle in the Hinterlands. We stumbled upon it early in the days of the Inquisition. It’s all rubble, overgrown with grass, but there’s one room that’s mostly intact. There are some pieces of stone that used to be the floor, though, that are cracked, and tiny sprigs of elfroot were growing up through them, right through the rubble. I was so happy when I saw them, those little sprigs of elfroot,” she continued, pouring them both another glass of wine and finishing off the bottle, “and Bull could not fathom why I was so pleased about some elfroot. We’d seen our fair share by then. But it wasn’t the elfroot that was spectacular, it was the elfroot _with_ the rubble. The tiny sprig of something living and hopeful, reaching up to the sun through debris. You can separate the elfroot and the debris, but separate, they’re just things. Together, they’re something more, and something better. You’re like that.  I’m sorry, that doesn’t—that doesn’t make any sense at all, does it?”

                Cullen paused. He didn’t know what to say.

                “No, it does make sense. Thank you, Amira. That . . . means so much to me.”

                She smiled at him warmly, and in that moment, Cullen knew Leliana’s phrasing had been right. He was in love with the Inquisitor.


	13. The Next Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in case any of you are interested, my tumblr is actually a thing now: left-of-here.tumblr.com. Feel free to hop over there to ask questions, make requests, give me prompts, etc. :)

                Now that Cullen had given a name to his feelings, now that he had acknowledged what they were, the next few weeks were a problem for him. It was as though the words in his mind had been the commands to lower a drawbridge, and now everything was coming through. He was having trouble staying focused during war meetings. He was smiling more, but he was also more frustrated and angry with himself. He could go from smiling and laughing to furious and miserable as quickly as she could leave a room. He had not struggled with such rapidly changing emotions for so long, he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like this. He expected it’d have to have been when he was a teenager. He hated how immature and unpredictable he felt.

                He also hated the constant struggle between wanting to be around her and not trusting himself around her. He couldn’t allow himself to become too comfortable around her; if he had started being too brazen back when he thought this was a fleeting infatuation, he couldn’t imagine how easily he could become careless and say more than he should now.

                Amira simply didn’t need this right now. _Cullen_ didn’t need this right now. There was no time or energy in either of them for some ridiculous, emotion-driven interpersonal strife. Amira was still mourning her relationship with Solas. Cullen was still trying to be a better person. Both of them were still recovering from the shock of everything Corypheus had done, now that they actually had the time to process it. Besides, there was still too much work to do.

                It had been two weeks since the ball. All of the post-celebration meetings had _finally_ been concluded, and the team was trying to decide what the next move would be for the Inquisition. Josephine wanted more public appearances. Leliana wanted more efforts to inspect and control those who publicly sided with the Inquisition outside of Skyhold. Cullen wanted to help rebuild areas that had been hit especially hard by the darkspawn or other disasters, specifically Crestwood.

                Amira didn’t know how she sided. All of those options sounded good. Something was tugging at her mind, though, keeping her awake at night. She knew her advisors would object to the idea. She knew it was probably a _bad_ idea. Still, she couldn’t shake it, and she needed to say something.

                The thought had been distracting her at the war table while her advisors debated the pros and cons of each path to take. She looked down at the map on the table, trying to figure out how best to present her idea.

                “Amira?” Cullen said, bringing her immediately back to the present. She looked at him and blinked as he blushed, quickly correcting himself: “Apologies. Inquisitor?”

                “Yes?” she asked, now blushing as well for no reason she could identify.

                “Are you well?”

                “. . . Yes?”

                The three of them looked at her. Josephine looked concerned. Leliana raised an eyebrow. Cullen looked at her patiently, waiting for her to elaborate.

                “I’m fine,” she said, “just distracted. I had an idea for what we could do next, but I’m honestly having trouble figuring out how to present it. I don’t think any of you will approve of it. I’m not saying we _have_ to do it, of course, I’m just—’’

                “Please, Inquisitor,” Josephine said with a smile, “tell us your plan.”

                Amira took a deep breath in.

                “I think we should try to find any remaining templars. Not red templars—just templars. See if there are any survivors. See if there’s anyone we can help.”

                There was a pause.

                “The mages aren’t going to like that much,” Leliana said. She looked cautious, sending glances over to Josephine from the side of her eye.

                “I can speak with the mages,” Amira said. “I am one of them. I have always supported them. I believe I have their trust.”

                “You’ve thought this through,” Cullen said, and he sounded pleasantly surprised. Amira looked at him. He was smiling the small smile he’d allow himself at the war table. It wasn’t as substantial a smile as when the two were just speaking with one and other, but it was still impactful. He looked almost impressed by her. She couldn’t help but smile back at him.

                “I’ve been thinking about it for some time. Every time I fought a templar, really. I wondered if any had gotten away before it was too late.”

                “This could . . . cause some controvery,” Josephine said, giving Cullen an apologetic glance. “The templars have fallen from their once-lofty status. They are not viewed positively by, well, _anyone_ anymore. It may make the Inquisition seem foolish or weak.”

                “It may also make us seem brave and charitable—an image I’d like for us to uphold,” Amira said.

                “Commander?” Leliana asked.

                “In full disclosure, I don’t believe my opinion would be unbiased in this situation, given my history with the templars. I have trusted the templars when I clearly should not have before, and I am inclined to trust them again. I will either need time to think this through, or I should be left out of the decision.”

                “I’d prefer you taking time,” Amira said. “We can work on other things until then. I can make some small public appearances, meet with some supporters of the Inquisition, maybe join a construction project for a few days—I can work on everyone’s ideas for projects while we all take time to think this through.”

                “We need to consider that pursuing this might be a complete waste of time,” Leliana said. “There might not be anyone left to help.”

                “I don’t think pursuing something you care about is ever a waste of time,” Amira said.

                Leliana’s face lit up. She had an incredibly satisfied smile on for just a moment before her face slipped back into almost-apathetic amusement, a standard expression for her. Amira was _baffled_ by this, so she continued speaking.

                “I know there is a chance that there might not be any templars left to help. I know that if there are, they might not even _want_ our help. But I think this is important. And I care about it. These are people who might have escaped, but who might not be able to live any life outside of being a templar. It is a life they have probably lived for so long, they might not know how to adjust—and there would be the fear of being thought of as one of the others, isn’t there? I can’t imagine living a life for so long, dedicating myself to it, and then . . .”

                Amira trailed off. She had been ranting, which she sometimes did when impassioned, but when she realized what she had been saying and in what company, she stopped, eyes wide, and she felt the blood leave her face. She, Josephine, and Leliana were all looking at Cullen.

                Cullen was looking down at the war table. He looked tense, but otherwise, his face was stoic as always. Amira had actually taken this as a cue to be concerned. The fewer emotions Cullen showed, she had come to realize, the more he was likely feeling.

                “Cullen, I—’’

                “No, no,” he said quickly, “I agree. This is why I agree with the Inquisitor. I think this is important. However, this is also why I feel as though my personal bias will interfere with my decisions.”

                His face remained stony.

                “I think it would be best if we took some time to consider the request, as per the Inquisitor’s request,” Josephine said in an upbeat voice, clearly trying to break the tension. “Is one week sufficient for everyone? Leliana?”

                “One week should be fine,” she said, clearly having already decided, but Amira couldn’t tell for which side.

                “Cullen?”

                Cullen gave a single nod, still looking at the map. He was staring intently at some markers at Crestwood, moving them around.

                “Inquisitor?”

                “My vote has already been cast. I am fine with giving you time to think, though.”

                “Until then,” Josephine said, “we will find smaller tasks for you to complete. I will find you a public appearance to make. Leliana, please find someone you feel needs inspection for the Inquisitor to meet with. Cullen, please find a construction project that the Inquisitor can help complete. We will meet again in one week. Inquisitor, please meet with us individually when you have completed each assigned task.”

                The three of them left the war table. Amira followed Cullen, who only realized she was behind him when they were in the room with the mural.

                “I apologize, Inquisitor,” he said, stopping and turning around. He still held the same blank expression. “I didn’t see you. Do you need something?”

                “Amira,” she corrected him, and his expression softened immediately. “I was wondering if I could speak with you.”

                “Of course,” he said, and led the way to his office. They walked to his office in silence, and then took their typical seats at his desk. “What did you want to talk about?”

                “I apologize, sincerely, for saying those things without thinking while at the war table.”

                Cullen tensed once again. “You shouldn’t need to apologize—’’

                “I wasn’t saying those things because of you. I care about what you have gone through, clearly, but that’s not why I said it.”

                Cullen tilted his head slightly and waited for her to continue.

                “That might not be the most comforting thing to hear, I suppose, but I just—I wanted you to know that this is something _I_ care about. I would care about it without you here. I didn’t say it for anyone’s benefit. I just want to help. And I think they could use the help. I actually didn’t think you’d approve of the idea at all.”

                “Honestly, if you would have asked me in a hypothetical if I thought it were a good idea, I likely would have said no.”

                “Exactly. I didn’t expect you to approve. I didn’t say it _because_ I didn’t think you’d approve—’’ 

                “I wouldn’t think you would.”

                “I’m glad. I just—I wanted you to know that this isn’t me, I don’t know . . . putting on some sort of charity mission simply because it sounds like charity. And it’s not me just trying to find a mission where I knew I’d get easy support. I don’t—I don’t think of you as the Troubled Ex-Templar, Cullen, regardless of how much I think you think _yourself_ as that sometimes.”

                “I still don’t know if I should contribute to the decision.”

                “I’d like for you to try separating yourself from it and thinking logically, if you can. Your input at the table is important to me.”

                “Thank you, Amira.” He paused, blushing again but just slightly. “Are you sure I shouldn’t be calling you Inquisitor right now?”

                “No. Why?”

                “It seems—I—I don’t know how to explain—it’s more difficult to . . .” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, flustered. “It’s more difficult to be the logical Commander if I call you by name, because then you’re _you_ and not the Inquisitor. We set those ground rules for the war table for a reason.”

                “This isn’t the war table. It was important to me to come to you about this as a friend.”

                “But you’re coming to me as a friend _about_ a decision regarding you as the Inquisitor. I don’t like when the lines blur. It makes things more difficult. It’s easier not to worry about the Inquisitor when she’s off on a mission than not to worry about Amira when she’s off on a mission.”

                Amira furrowed her brows. “I understand the idea behind that, but I’m not pleased that you worry about me at all. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”

                “That’s not what I meant. Forgive me. It isn’t that you’re not capable. It’s that you are my friend, and you are consistently put into incredibly dangerous situations. I think I am allowed to worry from time to time. Do you never worry about anyone here? Are you not worried about Dorian returning to Tevinter for the time being?”

                “Of course I am, but that’s because everyone in Tevinter is going to want to kill him.”

                “Amira,” he said, almost forcing himself to say her name, “please do not act as though most people in _many_ places want you dead.”

                “That isn’t the same—’’

                “It absolutely is. I think I have a right to worry sometimes.”

                Amira and Cullen looked at each other. They locked eyes, and Amira felt herself inexplicably blushing again. She just wasn’t used to prolonged eye contact, she decided.

                “Anyway,” she said, “I’d really like for you to take some time to think it over. If you find you can’t come to an unbiased opinion, I understand if you want to withhold a vote. I do think you should stop thinking you’re not allowed to be biased sometimes, though. I want to do this because it’s something I care about. You’re allowed to care about it too. I’d _prefer_ if you cared about it.”

                “I do.”

                “I know.”

                He looked as though he was going to say something further, but he thought better of it. He ran a hand through his hair again.

                “I will try, Amira. To think on it.”

                “Thank you.”

                He gave her a nod and she left, wondering what it was he hadn’t said to her but feeling as though she shouldn’t press it.

                Later that night, as Cullen pored over more paperwork, he jumped as his silence was disturbed by a small, coarse sound in front of him. He got up from his desk and found that someone had shoved a small envelope underneath his door. He opened his door and looked out, but there was nobody in sight. As he opened the envelope, he could immediately tell it was from Leliana based on the elegant but jagged handwriting.

                The envelope contained a single piece of paper with a single sentence on it, written largely and in quotes:

_“I don’t think pursuing something you care about is ever a waste of time.”_


	14. The Decision

                The week had passed by in a blur. The day after the war table meeting where Amira had pitched seeking out the templars, Dorian left for Tevinter. His sendoff was one of tears, jokes, and plenty of loving teasing. Amira’s heart was tight the entire time. She couldn’t imagine Skyhold without him, without his support and friendship. She made Dorian promise to write, and both of them tried to ignored the tears in each other’s eyes as they hugged before the crowd left to give him and Bull time alone to properly say goodbye. Amira would have loved to spend the day crying in her room, already missing him, but she knew Bull would need her more. That day, she, Bull, Cassandra, and Sera went to deal with the dragon in Cresthold. Amira knew Cullen would want it dealt with as soon as possible. The timing just seemed right. That night, she drank with the Chargers (and Harding, who had been asked to join and seemed to fit in very well with the group) and tried to help Bull forget, for the time being, that Dorian had left. Her efforts were not helped by Krem constantly making jokes about the two of them as star-crossed lovers, _painfully_ sappy and romantic. Krem only stopped when Bull told him to shut up and Harding gave him a pointed glare when he almost continued.

                The second day, Amira traveled to Val Royeaux with Vivienne to personally thank her seamstress and to meet with a merchant who was claiming the Inquisition imported goods from his ships exclusively. Between Amira and Vivienne, they made the merchant choose between being publicly denounced or the Inquisition neither confirming nor denying his claims—at the cost of _steep_ discounts on his goods. Amira looked forward to purchasing better supplies for her troops without worrying so much about their finances. She made a few appearances in Val Royeaux, dressed incredibly well by Vivienne, making sure to be seen at some of the finer shops, having lunch and tea with some impressive nobles.

                The third day was spent with Cassandra. The two discussed Cassandra’s ideas for her new role as the Divine. They talked about Varric’s terrible novels and Amira’s sexual frustration and how much they would miss each other, and how often they would write. Cassandra spent almost all of the afternoon and early evening meeting with Leliana to discuss the next moves for the Chantry. Cassandra left that night, leaving Amira to let the gravity of her and Dorian’s departures to fully dawn on her. She curled up in her bed, crying as quietly as she could to not let anyone hear her. Cole appeared at the foot of her bed and told her that he wouldn’t leave her for a long time, because she needed him right now. She hugged him tightly and slept well that night.

                But she was finding that her nightmares were coming back. She’d mostly had them leading up to the fight with Corypheus. She would have flashbacks to waves of darkspawn, to fighting Alexius, to Haven being attacked and watching her friends and allies be cut down or burned, to swarms of spiders chasing her, to the graveyard filled with her friends’ fears and seeing Solas’s as “dying alone,” to Stroud’s face as she left him there, to every time one of her friends would be knocked out in battle, not knowing if they were unconscious or dead—and then her mind would conjure new images to make things even worse. Cole becoming something evil and twisted because the amulet stopped working, Dorian being killed in so many ways in Tevinter, her friends turning on her, telling her she was wrong that she was _doing_ everything wrong, Cassandra being killed by assassins sent by her opposition as the Divine, Solas telling her she never mattered, Cullen telling her he was leaving the Inquisition because she had gone too far, that she was too selfish in her decisions—

                She would wake up crying, shaking, breathing heavily, sometimes mid-shout. Almost always, an attendant would knock on her door and check on her, and she’d tell them she was fine, fine, but spend the rest of the day embarrassed that someone had heard her scream simply because of a nightmare. She hated herself for having depended on Solas in times like these, needing his presence to fall back asleep, the feeling of him holding her enough to ground her, make her remember what was real. She was almost over the lack of his presence emotionally, but she was finding that his physical presence was something she still ached for. It was so much harder to sleep now, so much harder.

                For the rest of the week, she went between more public appearances, inquiries to people using the Inquisition’s name, and stops to help rebuild around Ferelden. She was so busy running from one thing to another she often lost track of time. She didn’t even realize it had been a full week until Josephine came to fetch her while she was eating breakfast.

                “I’m so sorry—I’d completely forgotten,” Amira said, finishing the last of her food quickly.

                “Amira, are you well?”

                “I’m fine, fine,” she said, standing up and walking towards the war meeting room.

                “Are you sure? You seem distressed.”

                “No, truly, I’m fine. It’s just been a busy week.”

                Josephine furrowed her brows and followed Amira, but she looked reluctant to start the meeting. Amira gave her an unconvincing smile, and she went to collect the others. Amira noticed nobody else looked tense. She was the only one who seemed to be anxious. She wasn’t looking forward to hearing their decisions for the templars. She really cared about this. Facing a veto at the hands of her advisors after this week wasn’t something she was sure she could handle.

                “Well,” Josephine said, “let us discuss and vote. Inquisitor, I assume your vote is for finding the templars, unless you have changed your mind?”

                “I have not.”

                Josephine nodded. “Is there anything else you would like to say in regard to your vote?”

                “I don’t believe so.”

                “Leliana, your vote?”

                “While I believe this is incredibly risky in many ways, I agree with the Inquisitor that it will look good for the Inquisition in the long term. I do not know if the risks outweigh the benefits, but I think we would be remiss not to at least make an attempt. However, if we are to proceed with this plan, we will need to discuss the Inquisitor’s team. Special precautions will have to be taken in choosing who will join the Inquisitor—again, if we are to continue with the plan.”

                “Two votes for seeking the templars. Cullen, your vote?”

                “I stand with the Inquisitor,” Cullen said, simply and with confidence.

                “Three votes. I agree with Leliana, but I believe I am slightly more hesitant than she is. We do need to discuss who will join you on your search, and we need to be precautious. However, I agree. I think this mission is important, and I think it will serve the Inquisition well.” She look at Amira and smiled. “A unanimous vote, for once! How nice.”

                Amira beamed. “I’m glad to hear you all agree.”

                “It was not an easy decision,” Leliana said, “but I believe it is the right one.”

                “We should discuss who will accompany you on your search once we have some leads,” Josephine said. She cast Leliana a hesitant glance, which was worrying. Amira knew that look. Leliana and Josephine had been talking about this. They already had something planned. Cullen looked at Amira, confused, but Amira gave him a small shrug. His expression fell, and he furrowed his brow as he looked at the other two.

                “Josephine and I have been talking,” Leliana said, “and we believe that, while the Inquisitor does have an impressive reputation, her status as a mage might make the possible remaining templars uncomfortable. We need someone who the templars can relate to.”

                There was a pause. Josephine and Leliana looked to Cullen. Amira blushed. Cullen was looking down pensively at the war table, seemingly not realizing what had been implied. He was looking from section of the map to another, and then back again. He noticed the silence a few moments later and looked up, confused.

                “Did I miss something?”

                The three of them continued looking at him in silence. His eyes narrowed.

                “You mean me.” He crossed his arms.

                “Cullen, it only makes sense,” Josephine said. “The templars, if there are any, will take to you well. You are like them—’’

                “I _betrayed_ them in their eyes,” he said. “I left.”

                “As did they, if they are still alive,” Leliana said.

                Josephine continued, “You share a similar story. You share similar beliefs. They will be safer knowing that someone can . . . handle the Inquisitor if she is possessed.”

                Cullen’s shoulders tensed even more. “That’s not what—’’

                “We know,” Leliana said, cutting him off, “but acting as though you _couldn’t_ is folly. The templars won’t care about whether or not you’re there to keep her in line. They’d only care that you _could_ , and that she values that enough to take you along.”

                “They’re right,” Amira said. “That’s not why I want you to join me, obviously. I don’t think I am in constant danger of being possessed, as much as Vivienne wants me to believe it. But I do think your presence would help. Cassandra isn’t here anymore to satisfy those who are still afraid of mages. You’re the only one who could give us the reputation we’d need.”

                “The soldiers need me here.”

                “The soldiers can be sent on missions while you’re away,” Leliana said. “I am sure there are some in your ranks who could do with a promotion right now.”

                Cullen looked between the three of them, his eyes staying on Amira. “I don’t know how I will respond to fighting at your side, if we need to. I might react poorly. It’s something I’ve been trained for, and I don’t know how well I can control it yet.”

                “I’m hoping fighting won’t be necessary. If it is, I’m glad for you letting me know, but I think it’s a necessary risk. We can try getting you used to being around magic somehow.”

                “I can’t guarantee I’ll be in top condition to fight after not taking lyrium.”

                “You fought well in the Wilds,” Leliana said. “Your soliders spoke highly of it.”

                Again, Cullen looked between the three of them. Again, his eyes fell on Amira and his gaze stayed.

                “Are you certain this is something you want to do, Inquisitor?” he asked.

                “Yes,” Amira said firmly.

                “Leliana, do you have a way of tacking these templars?”

                “I sent agents out after our meeting last week,” she said. “I knew we would all agree to the plan eventually.”

                Cullen sighed. “I’ll go.”


	15. Training

                “Forgive me,” Cullen said quietly, quickly, releasing his tight grasp on Amira’s wrists and removing his arm from across her shoulders. “It was instinct, I—’’

                “You don’t need to apologize,” Amira said, stepping away and rubbing her wrists. She could tell she would be bruised tomorrow. “This is why we’re practicing.”

                “But I _do_ need to apologize,” he said. Amira looked at him. “I cannot stand that this is who I am, and that you are the one who needs to . . . _deal_ with it.”

                This was their third consecutive day of training in an empty room in Skyhold. Each day, Cullen and Amira had gone to the room, started with a nice, calm, casual conversation, and then Amira had very specifically and calmly told Cullen what kind of magic she was going to do. She’d started small, just freezing tiny objects in her hand in front of him. He hadn’t reacted to that at all. The second day, she froze a piece of the floor between them. Again, he had been completely fine.

                Today, though, she tried freezing something _behind_ him. She had become too confident, and she knew it the instant she saw his face when she cast. He looked like someone completely different. He looked soulless. It was frightening—a word Amira _never_ thought she’d be able to apply to Cullen, especially outside of battle. Before she knew it, her had turned her around, locked her in a hold he’d clearly learned to subdue mages. Mages like her. He had gripped both of her wrists in one hands, held against her back, as his other arm wrapped around her chest, leaving her upper body completely immobile. His armor was cold and hard. Pieces of it dug into her skin through her clothing. Cullen felt massive, solid. She knew that if he had done this to her when she had first met him, there would be no way she could have escaped his hold.

The thought panicked her, but she had prepared herself for this. She couldn’t allow herself to retaliate when she was trying to teach him not to respond defensively against her magic. She had to say his name to alert him to what he’d done. As he released her, he still looked soulless, mechanical, terrifying for a brief moment.

                But now, he looked small. He leaned against the wall, looking up. His arms were crossed and his shoulders hunched, defensively. He looked more upset with himself than he had when he’d first tried to quit using lyrium. His gaze was empty. He looked heartbroken; he looked hopeless. The fear she’d felt a second ago was replaced by a need to help him somehow, make him feel better, make him not a hate what he was.

                “Cullen,” she said softly, walking over to him, “please, this—this is not all you are.”

                “But it is what I am. Even if it’s only a _part_ of me, it is _still_ a part of me, and I hate that.”

                “We’ll work on it,” Amira said. “I can help. I _want_ to help.”

                “I don’t want to hurt you.”

                Amira laughed. “Cullen, I don’t mean to sound rude, but I’ve taken down an archdemon. I know you are a big strong warrior, but if I needed to, I’m fairly certain I could defend myself against you.”

                “But would you? I know you, Amira. You’re not one to put yourself first, even when you should.”

                Amira paused. She tried to imagine it. She tried to imagine being in the middle of a battle, and Cullen suddenly attacking her. Her mind flashed back to when Sera had snuck up on her the night Solas left her.

                “I don’t know if I could _not_ ,” she said uncomfortably. “You’re not the only one who’s learned habits.”

                They looked at each other. Amira leaned on the wall next to them. They stood, Cullen looking up at the ceiling and Amira looking down at the ground, as it dawned on Amira how broken they both were. She wondered if anyone knew. She wondered if people saw her, dressed in beautiful clothes, sitting with Vivienne and Orlesian nobles having tea, and knew that she woke up sweating from nightmares, or that she panicked and attacked when she heard sudden noises. She didn’t think of it when she looked at Cullen. She wondered if he thought of it when he looked at her.

                “I can never go back, can I?” she asked.

                “To where?” He turned to look at her, still leaning against the wall, propped up by his shoulder.

                “Normal.”

                There was a pause.

                “I wish I could say yes,” Cullen said. “Truly, I do.”

                Amira nodded. He wasn’t saying anything she didn’t already know. She was glad to hear it from him, though.

                “I want to keep working on this with you,” she said.

                “I know.”

                “You need to let me.”

                He sighed and said, reluctantly, “I know.”

                “I’m sorry neither of us can go back to normal.”

                Cullen paused.

                “I like to justify it by thinking that we can’t so others can,” he said.

                Amira chuckled. Cullen turned to look at her, confused.

                “What tragic heroes we sound like,” she said, smirking.

                “I would never call you tragic.”

                Amira’s face flushed and her smirk fell. They paused, looking at each other.

                “We should try again,” Amira said, quickly, but Cullen had spoken at the same time: “Back to work, then?”

                They both walked away from the wall, tensely. They stood in front of each other and Cullen took a deep breath in and out, preparing himself.

                “Okay. I am going to freeze a patch of floor about twenty feet behind you. The patch will be no larger than one foot by one foot. It will make a crackling sound, and as it hits the ground, it will form a patch of ice. It will not be aimed at you, and it will not be close to you. You are in a safe environment. I will not harm you.”

                Cullen nodded, still tense. Amira could already tell he was too anxious. She prepared herself to be put into another hold.

                She took a breath in, locked eye contact with him, and then said, “I’ll count to three.”

                “Alright.”

                “Do you trust me?”

                Cullen’s tension broke. He looked at her, baffled. “Of course I do. Do you need to ask?”

                “No, but you needed to say that out loud. Remember that. One—two—three.”

                On “three,” she hit the ground a ways behind him and it froze. This time, Cullen stayed still.


	16. Sound Sleep

“We have a lead.”

                Amira, Cullen, and Josephine all looked at Leliana. She took a small metal marker and placed it in the heart of Emprise du Lion.

                “My agents have tracked a small group, no more than five templars. They were stationed in Emprise du Lion, but they are said to have left before the red lyrium had gotten out of control. It is unknown whether or not any of them had been infected, for lack of better words.”

                Amira looked up at Cullen, who looked pensive. His brow was furrowed. His arms were crossed, his left hand held up to his mouth in a loose fist.

                Leliana slid the marker from Emprise du Lion to the Exalted Plains.

                “The group fled Emprise du Lion and stationed themselves in the Plains for some time. This would have been about when you helped Solas with his friend, Inquisitor. The group then fled the Plains, likely due to a mixture of hostility from the locals and hearing the Inquisition was in the area.”

                “So they’re hostile towards the Inquisition?” Amira asked.

                “I wouldn’t say _hostile_ , no. Frightened, yes.”

                Amira nodded once, and Leliana slid the marker to the northwest of the Emerald Graves.

                “The group has settled in the Graves. My agents have located their camp, but from a distance, so as not to alert them to our presence.”

                “Do your agents have any names?” Cullen asked.

                “We have but one. The group is being led by a Delrin Barris.”

                “Do you know him, Cullen?” Josephine asked.

                “I know his name,” Cullen said, “and it is likely he knows mine.”

                “What sort of reputation does he have?” Amira asked.

“Generally, he sounded like a good man. It was also said he followed orders well.”

                “Until now, apparently,” Leliana said. “The phrasing used for Barris’s departure from the templars has been ‘abandonment’ and ‘betrayal’ when discussed with my agents.”

                “Well, that’s a good sign, isn’t it?” Amira said. “Cullen, do you think this will be worth our time?”

                “Yes,” he said simply. He was still looking at the map.

                “Good. Are there any other suggestions for who I might need to have on my team for this? I was hoping to bring Cole and Bull along.”

                “That should be fine,” he said, finally looking up. “When shall we leave?”

                “We usually leave quickly—do you need a day or two to prepare?”

                He furrowed his brows again. “Are we ready to leave so soon in our training?”

                It had been two weeks, and Cullen had improved significantly. He’d been displeased in the time it was taking for him to change, but he was already unflinching when Amira would cast small bolts of lightning in front of him. He still retaliated each time she cast anything large enough to inflict damage, though, even when she did it in the opposite direction of him.

                “We can continue training as we travel,” she said, “and we need to start getting you used to me using magic in battle. Cole and Bull can help with that.”

                Cullen blushed. She knew he hated the idea of others seeing him “fail,” but she also knew this was important. Cullen nodded, and the group dispersed.

 

                If Amira was beautiful in Skyhold, she was borderline awesome, in a literal sense, in the field. Being outside, _really_ outside, suited her. Her skin glowed and her hair shone. Her smile was the most captivating thing about her; it was wider than Cullen had seen outside of that moment _just_ before she broke into laughter but here it remained, sustained, drawn across her face in constant elation. He understood, now, why she asked him about feeling too cooped up. This was what she lived for.

                He was already beginning to feel the effects of it on himself, too. The distance from Skyhold meant an unexpected distance from his title as Commander—he felt much more _Cullen_ here. His posture already felt more relaxed. He could already feel a smile lingering on his mouth. He hadn’t felt this at ease in so long, and he didn’t realize how much he had missed it. He found himself laughing at Amira and The Iron Bull’s jokes and listening more intently to Cole. He felt so much more comfortable here.

                The Iron Bull seemed to notice this change quickly. He made a point of joking with Cullen more, and asking Amira to relay specific stories he knew would make Cullen laugh. Cullen was pleased, but confused—The Iron Bull had never really seemed to care much about Cullen one way or the other. His purpose became clear when, at one point, Amira’s back was turned, and The Iron Bull waggled his eyebrows at Cullen, pointing to Amira. Enraged, Cullen shook his head, but The Iron Bull just rolled his eyes. Perhaps being so comfortable was not good in the long run.

                They traveled south along the mountains until nightfall. They’d have to reach the Graves tomorrow, and hopefully, if they got an early start, they’d be able to find the camp that day. Amira, however, did not seem to find this as urgent as Cullen had expected. Her delight in being back outside of Skyfall seemed to take precedence over returning quickly with news. Her lack of urgency made him torn: on one hand, they needed to complete this mission and return to Skyfall to plan the Inquisition’s next steps; on the other hand, he found he didn’t really want to return so quickly either.

                That night, they built a makeshift camp in the woods, eating around a small fire before Amira walked off, still in sight of the camp, and laid on the grass, looking up at the stars. Cullen watched from the fire as Cole joined her and she pointed out constellations to him, telling him their stories. Cole seemed baffled by the concept that stars could have names and stories, but Amira was happy to explain as best she could.

                As they all finally tucked into their tents for the night—Cole staying out as watch, making Cullen appreciate his status as a spirit even more—Cullen found himself wishing things could stay like this. He didn’t need the luxury of a castle. He didn’t need to have work to do, assignments to carry enough. For now, he felt content. He almost started easily drifting off to sleep until he heard a high-pitched half-scream, half-whimper from the tent behind him. He was up and out of his tent instantly, not even thinking to put his armor back on.

                He was shocked to find he was the only one who had sprung to attention when Amira cried out. Not even Cole had left his post. What kind of guards were they? He opened Amira’s tent, realizing he had forgotten his sword in panic, but saw that she was still there, in under a blanket, alone. He realized she was crying. She looked mortified when she saw him.

                “Amira?” he said softly, “Are you alright?”

                “Shit,” she admonished herself under her breath. She looked back up at him, her eyes wide. She rubbed a few tears away from them. “I’m so sorry, Cullen. I didn’t mean to worry you. I should have said something.”

                Cullen fully entered the tent, letting it close behind him. He sat next to her. “What’s going on?”

                “It’s nothing,” she said. “I’m fine. Truly. This just happens sometimes.”

                “Please, tell me what’s happening,” he said. “Maybe I can help.”

                She shook her head. “It’s just these terrible nightmares. I can’t sleep without having them anymore. I had thought they’d stop once we defeated Corypheus, but they’ve just gotten worse.”

                “Is there anything I can do to help?”

                “No. The only time they were better was when Solas was with me. Having him next to me made it easier to tell what was real. I’m—gods, I’m so sorry, that wasn’t anything you needed to know, and I must sound so crazy—’’

                “It happens to me too.”

                Amira paused, looking at him.

                “What?” she asked.

                “It happens to me too,” he said, looking her directly in the eyes. “I think it’s just something that happens if you’ve seen as much battle as you and I have. There’s nothing wrong with you. This is just—’’

                Amira quickly pulled him into a tight hug. For a moment, he tensed, not knowing how to react. Then, his postured softened, and he wrapped his arms around her too. His heart was beating quickly, and he felt almost lightheaded.

                “Thank you,” she said. “I know it probably doesn’t seem like much, but just knowing that I’m not crazy—that means everything to me right now.”

                “I can stay,” Cullen said. He flushed. He realized the implications his offer held and he didn’t want her thinking he was being too forward. “I mean, I can stay in the tent. If it would be helpful. I can sleep on the other side of the tent. If it would be helpful. I wake early; I would be out before at least Bull was awake so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea.”

                “I can’t ask that of you.”

                “I am offering.”

                Amira paused, considering it. “You’re sure you’re comfortable with that?”

                “I want to help. If you’re not comfortable with it, that is fine, but if you are, and if it would be helpful, I’d like to help.”

                There was a moment of silence before Amira said, “It’s worth trying, if nothing else.”

                Cullen went back to his tent to get his bedroll and blanket, cursing himself with each step. How did his blighted idiocy lead him to believe _this_ was a good idea? Did he _want_ to just stay up all night, trying not to think of her next to him? Did he _want_ to struggle even more with trying to hide his feelings? It was good of him to offer, he kept trying to tell himself. This would be good for Amira. This would help her. He wasn’t doing it for selfish means. He tried to focus on the positive as he got back to her tent, set out his bedroll on the opposite side of the small tent as her, and tried to sleep.

                His attempt at distance was almost immediately rendered useless as Amira started tossing and turning. Her face looking worried, concerned. She muttered in her sleep, things about Dorian and Cole and Sera and Cassandra and him. He watched in nervous silence until she rolled closer to him, almost against him, and let out a tiny whimper. She tossed again, and her back touched his chest. Instead of becoming more panicked, her breathing actually became steadier. She pushed herself against him a tiny bit more, so that her upper back was flush with his chest.

                She said what had helped her was feeling Solas there next to her. He took a deep breath in and hoped what he would do next would be helpful and not completely crossing a line.

                He slowly, cautiously closed the rest of the gap between them. It was no more than two inches, but it felt like a continent. He moved so that her back was fully against his chest, her legs bent at the knee mirrored by his. He put his arm around her waist.

                She stopped tossing and turning. Her breath returned to normal instead of jagged and shallow. She moved more fully against him, nuzzling his chest. As she readjusted, she dragged herself slowly against his crotch, clearly not an attempt to arouse him but doing it all the same. She started sleeping more soundly as soon as she had settled into her new position, but Cullen was trying to distract himself from his hardening length pressed up against her. His heart quickened again in panic. He needed to distract himself somehow so he could stop this, but it was so difficult with her nuzzling him, so close to him, laying with him like past lovers had.

                He moved his hips away from her and was relieved to find she did not follow them with hers. Slowly, he started to calm back down. His heart rate slowed. He looked at her and sighed contently. She looked so calm. She fit against him so well. This felt _right_. And yet, as he looked at her, he knew this was nothing more than helping the Inquisitor sleep. He knew this was only a pastiche of what he wanted. He decided that for tonight, after everything that had happened, he deserved a night to indulge himself and forget that this wasn’t real. He fell into a deep, sound sleep.


	17. Bull's Advice

When Amira woke up, the sun was hot through her tent and there was an arm holding to her waist. She was groggy and for a moment in her stupor, her mind mistook the arm for Solas’s, but she quickly realized it didn’t feel like Solas at all. The arm was too large, too heavy. The chest against her back was too wide and sturdy. The body as a whole just felt so much larger, wrapping around her so much more easily. It was nice. She shifted slightly, rubbing her back more against his chest while she stretched, making sure to seem like she was still asleep.

She almost felt bad for taking advantage of Cullen’s kindness like this, but he _had_ offered. He was the one with his arm around her. She remembered very clearly hearing him say he’d sleep on the opposite side of the tent, not that she minded at all—and she realized that _she_ was the one on the wrong side of the tent. Her body must have betrayed her need for physical contact. He was still the one with his arm around her, though.

She figured he would be embarrassed once he woke, especially since she got the impression from the heat that they had slept in. Still, she was too comfortable here to move or wake him up. She had missed this too much. Even without the romantic backing to the gesture, even though this was just platonic, it felt too nice to stop.

Meanwhile, Cullen was already awake, hoping Amira wasn’t. He didn’t want to get up. He hadn’t slept this well, been this comfortable, in so long. He needed to get up. He needed to get up to make sure The Iron Bull would only give him so many looks or tell so many jokes. He could still decrease the imminent damage. He could still—

Amira stretched against him, rubbing up against his chest, and his heart fluttered.

He could wait a few more minutes.

When they finally got up—Cullen first, then Amira—they didn’t talk about it. It was clear that Cullen was embarrassed, even though Amira was grateful. She expected it wouldn’t happen again, which she was sadder about than she thought she’d be. She didn’t understand why she was so sad, which was frustrating, but she decided that they had work to do, and she could think about it another day. No time for introspection now.

 

The group hit the Graves quickly, and Amira had trouble reigning in her excitement. The Graves were _by far_ Amira’s favorite part of Orlais. The place was just beautiful, filled with Dalish history, and so bright and uplifting. She fought the desire to roll around in the grass, but did not fight the urge to pick every single piece of elfroot she saw, much to Bull’s chagrin. She chased the brown nugs with Cole, petting them gleefully before setting them back off on their way.

Cullen watched her, still half-basking in the comfort from that morning.

“So, you and the Inquisitor, huh?” The Iron Bull—who was insisting that simply being called “Bull” was fine—asked. Cullen jumped slightly, forgetting that there were people around other than himself and Amira.

“Excuse me?” Cullen asked, looking offended. Bull scoffed.

“I hate to say it, Commander, but you’re about as subtle as one of Varric’s serials. And I’ve read those things. They do _not_ beat around the bush.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve been staring at her this whole trip. You laugh at all of her jokes. You laugh at all of _my_ jokes, which I’m going to guess you wouldn’t be doing if she weren’t here. You’re telling _stories_. And you’re calling her by her name.”

                Cullen crossed his arms. “You do the same things.”

                “I don’t sleep in her tent.”

                “She was—she was having nightmares. She couldn’t sleep. I got worried, checked on her, and offered to stay. I don’t want you thinking—’’

                “If I thought you had done anything fun, I wouldn’t be talking to you about it.”

                Cullen blushed. “The point remains that other than _helping her sleep_ , you do everything you listed. My relationship with the Inquisitor is no different from yours.”

                “Yeah, and if I weren’t trying out this whole monogamy thing, I’d probably be trying to bed her too.”

                “That is _not_ what I’m trying to—’’

                “And there’s your problem, Commander. She could probably use it right now. You could _definitely_ use it. You seem like you’ve had a dry spell worse than the Approach.”

                “Is this _really_ necessary?”

                “All I’m saying is that I can see how you look at the Boss, and I can see how she looks at you too. I get that it’s within your high and mighty moral code to be all chivalrous, but sometimes people don’t need chivalry. Sometimes people just need a good fuck.”

                Cullen was furious. He tried to be level-headed in his response. “Bull, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you clearly have no understanding of the situation.”

                Bull laughed. “Oh, definitely. You’re right. Big Dumb Qunari doesn’t understand how the smart people work because it’s just so damn complicated. I don’t understand that you’ve got some pent up sexual frustrating for Boss that’s been hanging around for who knows how long, mixed with weird new feelings because she saved the world so you’re impressed and all infatuated. I don’t understand that Boss just got out of a messy relationship and is stuck wanting to get laid but not wanting to jump into a relationship and feeling weird that she can’t just sleep with someone because she’s the Inquisitor. I don’t understand that she’s not going to see that she’s allowed to have feelings again until someone makes her see that she already has ‘em. I just follow Amira around, eyes closed, fingers in my ears, singing a happy tune as I ignore her and everything going on around me. No offense, Cullen, but I think _you’re_ the one who doesn’t understand. You people and your lofty ideas of sex. Sometimes, you just gotta indulge yourself. You think starting out with sex is going to ruin everything, make it so that you can’t have a relationship. Why? I haven’t ever heard one good explanation for how that makes any sense. Seems to me like just starting with sex would be easier in this situation.”

                Cullen blinked. He didn’t know how to respond.

                “Well, regardless, none of this makes any sense without reciprocated feelings, so it’s a moot point,” he said finally. Bull gave him a deadpan stare and then sighed.

                “Yeah, I don’t have the energy for this. Have fun feeling sorry for yourself when you could be feeling a _whole_ lot better instead.”

                Bull got up and went to his tent. Cullen watched him, scowling at his back, wishing a part of him didn’t think Bull might be right.


	18. The Rain

For the next few days, Amira almost regretted letting Cullen sleep by her side and then indulging herself when she woke up. That, mixed with drunken memories of Wicked Grace, were making it hard to concentrate on the task at hand. They were deep into the Graves now, but not quite far enough north to be close to the camp. They stopped each night to camp—Cullen regrettably staying in his own tent—and stopped along the way to eat, but Amira was slipping back into Inquisitor mode, wanting to get things done.

                She would stay in Inquisitor mode if it weren’t for Cullen. She would become motivated, start making more progress towards the camp, go back to training with him in earnest, before becoming distracted again. The light would hit his eyes a certain way, or he would stretch in a certain way, and she’d just find herself getting dizzy about it. He was just _incredibly_ attractive: the way his stupid golden hair curled and waved, the way his stupid smile was always just a little lopsided, the way his stupid eyes practically _twinkled_ when he was laughing, his stupid nice lips with the stupid cute scar, the body she _knew_ he was hiding under that stupid armor . . . The only time she could really concentrate was while they were both training with Bull and Cole; as long as she was under attack, even simulated, she could keep herself thinking straight.

                It was incredibly frustrating. She hadn’t wanted someone this much since she first started really talking to Solas. She’d been attracted to Solas before then, but she hadn’t felt so much _want_ until they started talking more frequently.

                That was different, though—that was different. That was because she’d been falling in love with Solas and her want was something deep and emotional. It wasn’t like that with Cullen. Cullen was one of her best _friends_. He was just conveniently attractive for her loneliness. This was just physical.

                She almost wished Cullen were more like Bull, that she could just sleep with him and get the frustration out of the way. She doubted that Cullen would be fine with casual sex, _especially_ with a good friend—not even accounting for the fact that she got zero cues that he was attracted to her. This would be so much easier if she could sleep with him and move on instead of having to just force herself to move on. She’d had to stop talking with him before going to bed in fear that her frustration would get the better of her and she’d try something she knew she shouldn’t.

                She tried to focus on their progress and how much better Cullen had gotten in training. They could fight alongside each other without him trying to stop her, even if he left each session shaking and on edge. Amira was just pleased they had gotten that far so quickly, and expected they wouldn’t get much further. Trauma could be worked through, but she knew first-hand it couldn’t be erased.

               

                It was the fourth day now. Like every day, they woke early and started walking north, looking for any signs of the templars. They had reached the area where the templars should have been and had searched everywhere, but to no avail. The air was heavy and thick, making the search even more frustrating. She kept trying to focus on the positive, but the mixture of sexual frustration, the annoying humidity, and the continual failure to find the templars was wearing on her quickly.

                “Rain on the horizon, Boss,” Bull said, looking around with meticulous detail. It was times like these when Amira remembered how much Bull must have trained as a spy.

                “We’ve gone through Crestwood and The Storm Coast,” Amira said. “We can get through some rain in the Graves. Cole, any read on this?”

                “The river helps, but rain is near,” he said, sitting on a tree branch. “Coasts are dangerous. Need to move to higher ground, hope not for lightning. Maybe they’ll stop tailing us soon. Just want to go home. Where is home, though? Just want to go gome.”

                Amira sighed. She looked around and pointed to some mountains. “There, do you think?”

                “Flowers here,” Cole said. “Been so long since we’ve seen real flowers.”

                “It’s worth a shot,” Bull said. “Even if they’re not there, if it starts really coming down, it’ll be better for us to be away from the riverbanks, too. I figure if there’s lightning, you’ll be able to help with that.”

                Amira nodded. “Let’s get going.”

                The rain started coming down quickly. At first, it was nice—refreshing, even—with the sound of the raindrops bouncing off the leaves and the river like rattling windchimes. The sun remained for about half an hour, making everything glow and shimmer. She needed this right now, this moment of beauty to alleviate her growing anger. Amira stopped walking for a moment to savor the rain, knowing she’d regret it later when her clothes were wet and cold.

                “Is this really the time for whimsy, Boss?” Bull said, a stand-by line he used whenever she was spending too much time chasing animals or picking herbs.

                “Such a spoilsport, Bull,” she said, staying smiling in the rain, her eyes closed. When she opened them, her gaze immediately fell on Cullen. He was standing in front of her, not too close, but close enough to watch a single drop of rain fall from his hair to his cheek. He was smiling at her, but when their eyes locked, both of them blushed and looked away. Amira’s expression became hardened. No time to think about Cullen being cute right now.

                “The rain makes your hair wet,” Cole said, from underneath his hat. Amira started walking again. “Will my hair be wet?”

                “Not if you keep your hat on,” Amira said.

                “ _Can_ your hair be wet? If you don’t want it to, will it just pass though you?” Cullen asked.

                “Does it just pass through _you_?”

                “Well, no, I just—’’

                “You’re made of water. Most of you is water. It doesn’t feel like it, but it is. How do you know it doesn’t go through you? How do you know it isn’t different water?”

                “I can feel it trail. I can watch where it goes.”

                “That’s good. It’s good to know.”

                As they hiked up the mountain, the rain started coming down heavier and heavier. Thunder boomed, and lightning struck in the distance. The ground underneath was becoming slippery, especially under Bull’s weight. Amira sighed, frustrated once again, but she knew they couldn’t continue.

                “We should go back,” she half-yelled through the noise. “I can hardly see, and we’re not getting up this mountain anytime soon. We should find somewhere to camp and call it a night.”

                “Can we afford the lost time?” Cullen called back, having to yell over a crash of thunder.

                “Don’t think we have a choice,” Bull said.

                The group started their descent. Amira could already feel the morale sinking again like their feet in the mud.

                “You’re sure we can’t—’’ Cullen started, but Amira cut him off.

                “ _Yes_ , Cullen, I am _sure_ ,” she snapped. The group went quiet. Amira regretted snapping at him, but she was too prideful and annoyed right now to apologize.

                They set up camp hastily, rigging up tarps bound to tree limbs first to keep the rain away. The ground was already too wet to make a fire, even with Amira’s magic. They ate dried meats and bread stored away from Skyhold instead of hunting and cooking, which just added to Amira’s frustration. She sat in her tent, not bothering to change into dry clothes yet but taking off her heavy leather coat. She just wanted to steep in her anger, let herself feel it, so she could let it go more quickly. She indulged the anger, waited, took a deep breath in, and then imagine her breath out pushing out all of the unnecessary anger. It only helped a little, but it’d have to do for now.

                She heard a scratch on the fabric of her tent followed by Cullen’s voice. “Amira? I apologize, I don’t exactly know how to knock on a tent . . .”

                Amira got up and opened the flap. Cullen had changed, but the walk from his tent to hers had already made him almost drenched again. He wasn’t wearing his armor—Amira guessed it was laid to dry somewhere. The metal must have been freezing in this weather. She didn’t particularly feel like speaking with anyone right now, let alone Cullen, but she didn’t want him staying out in the rain. She let him in through the flap and asked, “Do you need something?”

                “I feel as though I’ve done something to upset you,” he said. “You’ve been distant as of late, and you seem frustrated with me. If I might, I’d like to know what I’ve done so I can apologize and try not to repeat my actions.”

                Amira sighed. “It’s—no, you haven’t done anything to upset me. I’m sorry I’ve been short with you. I’ve just been frustrated. This whole trip has just been incredibly frustrating. It isn’t your fault, and I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

                “I’m glad to hear that. You—you haven’t changed?”

                Amira realized, blushing, how much her clothing must have been sticking to her body. Her coat had mostly concealed her before, but it was off now. Her heart started pounding, both in embarrassment and because the idea of her, clothes showing every curve of her body, sitting next to Cullen, brought back a frustration that had nothing to do with the templars.

                “I, um, I haven’t,” she said awkwardly, still blushing, her eyes wide. She noticed his expression was the same, and her heart started beating faster.

                “Oh,” Cullen said. The two of them locked eyes, and Amira could tell it was actually a struggle for him. He was _actively trying_ not to let his gaze wander. That was enough to break any dedication she had to maintaining decorum around him, and she would have made a move if he hadn’t first.


	19. Thankful for Thunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heads up second smut

          His mouth was on her fast and hard, his kiss hungry and desperate. She could tell that he’d wanted this as much as she did for at least as long as she had. She still didn’t know about her feelings yet, and she didn’t know what his were, either—but for now, she didn’t care. His hand was in her hair, pulling her close, mouths open and hot against each other until Cullen pulled away, his eyes even wider.

          “Amira, forgive me, I—’’

          Amira cut him off with another kiss. She didn’t need words right now. She didn’t want them. What she needed was him. He was tense for a moment before easing back into the kiss, his hand returning to her hair and the other running slowly up and down her back. She savored the feeling of his full lips on hers, the feeling of his tongue on hers for just a moment. Amira broke away from the kiss, moving her lips to his cheek, his jaw, planting kisses just beneath his ear and then longer, harder, sucking kisses down his neck. She shivered when she heard him moan quietly, felt the sound vibrate through his throat. She continued, running a hand up and down his chest before sliding her hand underneath his shirt, running her hand along his warm skin and retuning her mouth to his. She pulled off his shirt and moved one of her hands to his thigh, massaging it, feeling the thick muscles underneath his trousers.

          She felt Cullen’s hand on her waist, moving up to her ribs and then stopping just below her breast. He hesitated, tensed, and broke away from the kiss again.

          “Amira, are you sure this is what you want?” he asked. He looked concerned, but he was breathing heavily, his lips swollen and his pupils dilated.

          “Yes,” she said, and the blood coursing through her veins made her brazen. She smirked, moving her hand slowly up his thigh. “Why?” she said, kissing his neck as her hand moved between his legs, running it slowly up and down his hard length. “Do you not?”

          “Maker’s breath,” Cullen said, and then Amira was on her back, Cullen on top of her. Holding himself up with one hand, he used the other to quickly take off her shirt and breast band, tossing them aside carelessly. He kissed her neck as he cupped one of her breasts, running a thumb over her puckered nipple. She shivered in delight and he moved away from her neck, smiling, before bringing his mouth down on her other breast. His tongue moved across her nipple as he sucked on it, his teeth just lightly grazing over its surface. Amira gasped and moaned, her back arching involuntarily. His tongue started moving faster and he worked at the other nipple with his hand more quickly, pinching it slightly and rolling it between his fingers.

          “Oh— _creators_ , Cullen,” she gasped, hey eyelids fluttering. She hadn’t meant to say his name, make this more real than it was, but it held heavy in the air. He stopped and looked at her directly in the eyes before kissing her again. This kiss was less hungry, but it was _needier_ somehow. At first, it worried Amira. It felt like the kind of kiss Solas would have given her, with the same emotion behind it. She didn’t want him getting the wrong idea about what this was.

          But then—what _was_ this? She had been telling herself so certainly that this was only physical for so long. She had never actually stopped to think if it _was_.

          One of his hands came up to cup her face affectionately as he kissed her. The gesture was sweet and heartfelt, and Amira melted. She didn’t just _want_ him, she realized—she wanted _him_. The understanding just made her more eager. Still kissing him, she ran her fingers through his hair and moved his free hand back to her breast. He smiled against her lips and then broke the kiss, chuckling. The sound was shockingly sexy.

          As soon as his fingers started toying with her nipple again she felt her hips buck. He kissed her sternum, her stomach, and just beneath her bellybutton, unlacing her trousers and taking them and her smallclothes off in one slow, fluid motion. He moved his hand down until it was cupping her cunt. He used one finger to slide open her outer lips, slowly trailing up, finger wet, until stopping to trace slow circles across her clit. She moaned, thankful for the sound of the storm; she was sure she was going to need that sound to cover her own soon. He took his hand away and she looked down at him incredulously until she saw him moving his face further down her body. She was immediately dizzy, her heart beating quickly as they made eye contact while he ran the flat of his tongue against her. She moaned again, more loudly, her back arching again and her hips bucking. He used one hand to hold down her hips while the other returned to her cunt, fingers still wet. He dipped one finger inside her and then a second, still licking at her clit. Her breathing got harder and she started moaning every few seconds, sighing his name. His pace became quicker and her moans louder until she came, one hand grasping at the bedroll and the other knotting itself in his hair. She unintentionally pulled at his hair and he let out a soft, quiet moan. Amira was delighted at the discovery, trying through her haze of pleasure to make sure she remembered it.

          He pulled away from her, standing up and starting to unlace his trousers. She watched him, feeling achingly empty, needing him inside her. She wanted to pull him close the moment his trousers and smallclothes were off, but she couldn’t help but take him in for a moment. She hadn’t seen his body for _so long_ , and even then, her memories of it were hazy and fleeting. Now, here he was, getting on his knees, crouching over her, his body muscles and gold.

          She bit her lip and he returned his mouth to her neck, thrusting into her slowly at first. She moaned, relishing the feeling of her filling her, before he started thrusting, building up momentum. She let out small moans and sighs, her voice becoming louder the deeper he thrust. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him further into her, thrusting against him in time with his movements. She felt the pressure building inside her, felt herself tightening around him, felt his cock twitch tellingly inside her, tasted the salt on his skin as she kissed his neck, sucking and biting gently. He moaned and thrust faster, harder, lowering one of his hands to rub her clit. She moaned loudly, thrusting hard against him, saying his name between jagged breaths. He continued thrusting, his breaths becoming quicker and more hoarse before Amira arched back up to him, kissed his neck, ran a hand through his hair and pulled at it gently. He moaned, “Maker, Amira,” the sound deep in his throat, and came inside her. The two collapsed back onto the bedroll, Cullen pulling out of her and rolling over on his side.

          The two laid there, breathing still heavy, and Amira realized Cullen had put an inch of distance between them. She rolled over, looking at him, but he was looking at the roof of the tent. His eyes were wide, and it seemed to have just _really_ dawned on him what they had done. He turned to look at her and his face was once again apologetic.

          Before he could say one more, “Forgive me,” Amira kissed him. The kiss was calm, sweet, reassuring. He looked pleasantly surprised when she broke away. He closed the inch between them. Amira wrapped her leg around his hips, her arm across his chest, and laid her head just beneath his collar bone. He stroked her hair, and for a good few minutes, the two of them listened to the rain.


	20. Serious Talks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff fluff fluff i'll add indents later it's 2am i'm so sleepy

“Cullen, it’s difficult to hide that you’re tense when I am literally on top of your tensed muscles,” Amira said with a sigh. They had been laying quietly together for about ten minutes, and it was nice until Cullen clearly started becoming more anxious.

“I’m sorry,” he said, trying and failing to relax his muscles. “I just—I’m trying to silence my thoughts and enjoy this. I am.”

“But?”

“But I can’t help feeling as though I am going to . . . get the wrong idea.”

Amira sat up, hugging her bent knees to her chest and resting her head on them. “As much as I’d like to bask, we should probably discuss.”

He sat up as well, his legs extended, his arms outstretched behind him, palms flat on the ground to support him. His lower half was covered by a blanket they had pulled over while lying together. His hair was a mess. She fought every urge to remain serious instead of tease him for liking his hair being pulled while trying to comb it down with her fingers. She had to give him his attention right now.

“I wish I could be more selfish with you,” Cullen said. “I wish we didn’t need to discuss. I wish I could just enjoy this without needing to understand what it is.”

“Is that being selfish?” Amira asked.

“I don’t—I don’t expect you to say you want this to be something . . . substantial. But I don’t know if I can continue acting as though I don’t have feelings for you. I wish I could be selfish and just allow myself to think whatever I want to think so I could enjoy this simply.”

Amira blushed and smiled. Cullen looked surprised.

“That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting,” he said.

“I—I didn’t think you had feelings for me until you reacted to me saying your name. I thought then that you probably did, but it’s just—it’s nice to hear. I won’t say this doesn’t make me nervous. I’ve moved past my _last_ relationship but admittedly, the hurt and the fear are still there.”

She looked at Cullen, who was listening attentively. He had the same expression he did when she was speaking at the war table. Amira laughed.

“What?” he asked self-consciously.

“I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. Not really. You’re just always so very . . . attentive. It’s a good thing. It’s something that is very, very Cullen. It’s little things like that that make me want something more substantial.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow, failing to look serious.

“Oh?” he said with a small smirk. He leaned forward. Amira started crawling back towards him. “What other little things like that make you want something more substantial?”

“Are you asking because you want to sway me,” she said, crawling into his lap and straddling his hips, “or because you want me to stroke your ego?”

He put his hands on her back, bringing her closer to him. She draped her arms over his shoulders and kissed at his neck, just below his ear, playfully.

“Can it not be both?” he asked.

“Creators, Cullen, I didn’t expect you to be such a flirt.”

“I didn’t expect to be so inspired to flirt,” he said, taking her face in his hand and kissing her. She leaned in to his kiss, but then pulled away quickly, sighing in frustration.

“We’re supposed to be talking,” she said.

“I’m sorry. You’re just distracting.” He leaned in for another kiss but she pushed him away, laughing.

“I can understand, trust me,” she said, rolling off of him to sit next to him, “but truly. We still need to talk about things. So please, try to remain serious. I know this will be _painfully_ difficult for you.” She smirked, and he did too, but both of them sobered up quickly.

“First, I just need to say that I—I honestly don’t know how I feel right now. I know that I care about you. I know that you make me happy. I know that I love spending time with you, and that you are someone I can turn to in times of trouble. Clearly, I’m physically _very_ interested—’’

“Amira, you’re making it difficult for me not to be distracted again.”

“Sorry. I just—the point is, I want to be with you. I just, I might have to take things slowly, emotionally speaking. I might get distant or cold, and if I do, I’m sorry in advance.”

“I can be patient,” he said. His face was back to serious and attentive.

“I don’t know where this will go. I honestly don’t.”

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to say anything. We’ll see where this goes. You know my feelings on the subject. I will leave them at that.”

“Next, this is clearly going to make things more complicated at the war table.”

“Is it?” Cullen asked, genuinely. “I’m rather good at keeping my feelings away from the war table.”

“Cullen, you can hardly stay focused right now.”

“Yes, but I assume you won’t be naked and flirting with me during meetings. How recent do you think my feelings for you _are_?”

Amira blinked. “I hadn’t thought on it, to be honest.”

“I can assure you, I have had to suppress my feelings during meetings before.”

“Wait,” Amira said, her eyes growing wide, “how long? As in, before or after Wicked Grace?”

Cullen groaned. “ _Please_ don’t remind me of Wicked Grace.”

“You should be thankful for that game. That game is a good reason I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.”

“Really?” Cullen said with a smirk, his seriousness immediately leaving his face entirely. “How so?”

Amira smirked back. “It was—wait, no!” She sobered up again and crossed her arms. “See?”

“It seems like you might have more of a problem with the meetings than I will,” he said, his voice cocky.

“Why couldn’t you have been this forward and infuriating after Wicked Grace? I feel like we’ve wasted so much time that could have been spent with me not hating you for my own frustration.”

“We can make up for it,” he said, leaning over and kissing her again.

She kissed him for a second, and then pulled away. “Bull’s never going to let us hear the end of this.”

“He already doesn’t.” He kissed her again.

“Leliana and Josephine are—’’

“Already aware of my feelings, and probably going to be pleased.” He kissed her again. She was already sold on ending their talk there, but now she was just going to be obstinate to annoy him.

“Sera—’’

“Will be exactly as Sera always is.” Another kiss.

“There’s going to be _such_ talk—’’

“They talked about you and _Dorian_.” A kiss. “Let them talk.” Another kiss. He readjusted so he could move towards her, hand gently pressing down on her shoulder to get her to lie back.

“And the controversy, a _mage_ and an _ex-templar_.”

“Two sides coming together,” he said, on all fours above her, his elbows on either side of her head. He leaned down and kissed her, a hand moving to her ribs and then cupping a breast. “All the better for the Inquisition, really.”

He massaged her breast in his hand, delicately rubbing her nipple. She was surprised—albeit _very_ pleased—that he was already so enthusiastic again. It couldn’t have been more than half an hour since they’d both finished. Still, she felt herself already becoming wetter again.

“And here I thought you wanted me to stroke your ego again,” she said.

“I’d love you to. But I think it can wait.”

He kissed her again, and this time, she did not pull away to say anything else.


	21. Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tiny update but another should be coming later today

A LETTER FROM THE IRON BULL TO LELIANA

_Hey, Red._

_You were right, and it looks like I owe you, Varric, Cassandra, and Dorian some cash when we get back. Tell Varric he’s not getting the full amount, though—it was the fourth day, not the third. You don’t get full pay for a partially correct bet. And who’s going to get the money to “Most Holy” up in her ivory tower? I’ll figure out a way of getting Dorian’s cut to him, though._

_Honestly, I really thought the Commander was going to wuss out again. I won’t lie—it’s partially my handiwork. Gave him a good talking to. Really shouldn’t have messed up my chances to pay out like that, but eh, they both needed it._

_Tell Varric not to worry, by the way. I’m already giving them plenty of shit about it._

_They seem pretty happy though, and not just breaking-the-dry-spell happy. We all know Cullen’s got it bad, but I think the Inquisitor might have it worse than I thought. She gets all smiley and giggly around him—more than she did with Solas, but really, who’s surprised that she’s smiling more now that she’s away from that fucking sadsack? Anyway, it’s pretty cute. Who knows? Maybe this will be some kind of a . . . thing._

_Here’s my point: who’s up for another bet?_

_Hope everything in Skyhold is fine, but knowing you and Josephine, I’m sure it’s smooth sailing as always. Tell Sera I say, “Ha ha, you were wrong,” and when she points out that I was wrong too, tell her it’s still funny that she’s wrong. If Krem asks for me to pay up for his cut, tell him I say no. Just flat out no. Unless he wants it to take Lace somewhere nice. In which case, you can give him a begrudging “fine,” but make sure it’s begrudging._

_\--The Iron Bull_

* * *

 A LETTER FROM THE IRON BULL TO DORIAN

 

_Kadan,_

                _Miss you._

* * *

A LETTER FROM MIA TO CULLEN

 

_Dear brother,_

_Oh, how I appreciate a good, concise, “I am not dead and the world didn’t end.” Always such a conversationalist. Don’t get me wrong—I’ll take it, and I’m glad to hear you’re not dead, especially since you were seemingly in the heart of the battle. See how I said “seemingly”? That’s because I can’t know for sure. Because you didn’t tell me._

_The invitation was an unexpected surprise. You don’t get an invitation to a giant castle filled with heroes every day. It might take me a few weeks to get there, but I don’t think this is an offer I can pass up. Besides, it’ll give me a way to scold you in person for everything._

_Have you written either of our other siblings, by the way, or have you only informed me you’re not dead and invited me to the castle? I’d bet it’s the latter. They do miss you, you know._

_So, I suppose I shall be seeing you soon, unless you need to rescind the offer._

_Love, Mia_


	22. The Templars

“They’re here,” Cole said, and the entire group froze. They’d been searching again, and they were back to feeling almost resigned to defeat. There had been a loud _snap_ in the woods nearby that set Amira and Cullen grabbing for their weapons, but Bull had pacified them with a calm, “Probably just a halla, Boss.”

                But now, they were on edge again. Amira’s eyes flicked between Cullen, whose hand was back on his sword, and Cole, who stood by the river, looking past them.

                “Cole,” Amira said quietly, “are you telling us that, or are you speaking as them right now?”

                “Yes,” Cole said.

                “Can they see us?”

                “Yes.”

                “Can they hear us?”

                “Yes.”

                “Are they frightened?”

                “Yes.”

                “Are they hostile?”

                “Heart races—they’re the ones who killed our brothers, our sisters. They’re the ones who killed the Divine. Say what she will do what she will I still think, I still think she may have killed the Divine. But maybe, if she didn’t—if it’s true, if she didn’t, maybe there could be hope. Hope from the Herald, hope for the hollow hallowed.”

                Amira looked at Cullen and Bull. Amira lowered her staff, and Cullen took his hand away from the sword. Amira nodded at Cullen.

                “Ser Barris and company,” Cullen said, projecting his voice. It was loud, but calm—not foreboding or defensive. “If you can hear us, please know that we approach you with no ill intent. I am Cullen Rutherford. You might know my name. I was once a templar as well. I know too well how difficult seeing the templars’ fall has been. We have been informed that you left the order in self-defense, before the red lyrium outbreak. We come to offer help. The road ahead will be difficult for what remains of the templars—or those who were once templars. Again, this is something I know too well. The Inquisition does not come to condemn you; we come to offer any help we can.”

                There was silence. The breeze shook a tree beside them. Amira could hear the river south of them. The air was still heavy with the humidity of the rain, even though it stopped raining two days ago.

                “I don’t think—’’ Amira started.

                “Wait,” Bull cut her off. He pointed to where Cole had been looking. The leaves rustled just the smallest bit before a man about as tall as Cullen with dark skin walked out of the brush. He moved slowly, hesitantly. His armor slid as he moved—it was made for someone much bulkier than he was. There was a sword at his side.

                “Drop your weapons,” he said. His voice sounded hoarse.

                “You drop yours!” Bull said, but Amira held a hand up to silence him. She set her staff on the ground. Cullen and Bull set theirs down. Cole knelt down, laid his daggers delicately on the grass, sat down next to them, and pulled up handfuls of grass, sprinkling them over the blades.

                “I will speak with you,” the man said, “but I will not hesitate to move if I need to act defensively.”

                “We would ask nothing less of you, Ser Barris,” Cullen said.

                “Inquisitor, this counts double for you. I would not even be humoring this if you weren’t accompanied by one of us.”

                Cullen tensed at “one of us,” but Amira replied, “It is understood, Ser Barris.”

                Ser Barris approached them, slowly, cautiously. Amira wondered where the others were, or if he was the only one who had lasted this long. Cullen walked forward a few paces to greet him and shake his hand. Ser Barris’s eyes had bags underneath them. He looked exhausted.

                “Ser Barris, we’ve come to find you in order to offer help,” Cullen said. “These are some key members of the Inquisition. This is Cole,” he said, gesturing to the boy, “and this is The Iron Bull.”

                “Hey,” Bull said gruffly. Ser Barris nodded at him.

                “This is the Inquisitor, Amira Lavellan.”

                “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ser Barris,” she said, but Ser Barris did not look at her.

                “In full honesty, it was the Inquisitor’s idea to seek you out,” Cullen said. “She knew some of you must be remaining, and she knew what a struggle it would be for you to return to a normal life after the fall of the order.”

                “So you’ve come to recruit me.”

                “Not necessarily,” Cullen said. “We could offer you work and a home in Skyhold. I can’t promise it would be an easy adjustment given our allies, but we will make sure that you are treated well. It would be a lie to say we didn’t also think you valuable. We’d like to help any other templars we can, and you might have some contact that would help us.”

                “Why?” Ser Barris asked, finally looking at Amira.

                “It’s always been my idea that the Inquisition should work to help,” Amira said. “I’m not interested in simply gaining power. To be honest, the title of Inquisitor, the mark on my hand, was never anything I asked for. I feel like if I’m going to be the one in power, I should use it to help.”

                “But why the templars, specifically?”

                “I genuinely cannot imagine what it must be like to flee your order, see it fall, and then likely be seen as a threat. I cannot imagine having to leave your home just to find safety. I have problems with the templar order. I won’t act like I don’t. But you are still a group who has been harmed by Corypheus, and that means it is my duty to help in any way I can.”

                “And you’re not afraid of some of the templars—ex-templars—joining your Inquisition for nefarious reasons?”

                Amira shrugged. “The Inquisition was _started_ with an ex-templar, Ser Barris,” she said, looking at Cullen, “and he is one of the most trusted in our ranks. We’ve had people join the Inquisition with ill intent before, but they have all been handled efficiently. I prefer to extend my trust and find myself in trouble than to always be wary.”

                His eyes flicked down to Cole, who was still on the ground, piling grass on his blades. Amira hoped they could save that conversation for a later date—both because explaining Cole was difficult and because she had a hard time not becoming enraged every time someone said something unkind about Cole.

                “You said you would offer a place to live and work to do,” Ser Barris said, looking back to Cullen. “Is this the only help you can offer?”

                “Not at all. Regardless of whether or not you come with us, we plan on making public statements in defense of templars like you, who left before the order fell.”

                “And what of those who had no choice but to stay?”

                “And them as well, of course.”

                “You’ll look weak.”

                “We’ll look merciful.”

                Ser Barris narrowed his eyes. “You left after Kirkwall. You left _long_ before the red lyrium. Why do you care about this?”

                “Being a templar was my entire life for so _much_ of my life. Leaving the order doesn’t mean I have no sentiment for it.”

                Ser Barris sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, I don’t think we have many other choices. You’re right—it’s been difficult. We’ve been attacked incessantly, and by nearly everyone we’ve come across. The other templars want to kill us because we’ve abandoned or because they’re—not themselves anymore. Everyone else wants to kill us because they think we’re like the others. We tried changing out of our armor, but even then, people just seemed to _know_ , and then we had less guard against them. Nobody will house us or let us buy from them. We’re—we have been struggling for some time. I will not say I trust you, Inquisitor . . . but I will say that we are, unfortunately, in need.”

                “You don’t need to swear yourself to the Inquisition,” Cullen said. “All we ask is that you treat the people of Skyhold with the same respect we will ask them to give you.”

                Ser Barris nodded. “I’ll go fetch the others.”

                He turned and left. Cullen looked at Amira and gave her a businesslike nod.

                “He and his men been out here a long time,” Bull said.

                “Yes,” Cullen responded, quietly.

                “They’re not doing so well.”

                “No.”

                “Think they’d have died if we didn’t find them?”

                Cullen shuffled uncomfortably. “I—I don’t know. It’s possible.”

                Bull looked to Amira.

                “It’s a good thing we’re doing here, Boss. A good thing we’re doing here.”

               

                When Ser Barris returned, he had two other templars with him: Ser Holst, a young pale, freckled, blonde woman of no more than seventeen; and Ser Ashe, a young man with tanned skin and dark hair of no more than fifteen. They were thin, and they looked skittish. They approached Amira even more hesitantly than Ser Barris had. Ser Holst greeted her with steely suspicion, but Ser Ashe’s eyes looked almost pleading.

                The group made their way to the Inquisition’s campsite. It wasn’t too far off, but the uncomfortable silence made it feel eternal. Nobody wanted to speak just yet. Everyone was still trying to get a feel for the situation. Even Cole was quiet for now.

                Amira looked at the group from the corners of her eyes. She was surrounded by templars, which didn’t feel uncomfortable with Bull, Cole, and Cullen around—but it did make her wonder if the formation was intentional or not.

                She looked at Ser Holst, not much younger than herself, and wondered just what had been taken from her childhood by all of this. She had a spark of ambition in her eye. She’d be a good templar if she continued with whatever would become of the order. But would she continue?

                She looked at Ser Ashe, so small and skittish and thin and broken. She saw her own fear in his eyes. She wondered if he already had nightmares and spoke in his sleep like she did, like Cullen did, even as young as he was.

                She looked at Ser Barris, so much smaller now than what his armor had been made for, still walking with such command and authority. A leader, she thought—a genuine leader, and yet still, so affected.

                The group was small and fragile, which meant so much more to Amira than if they had found large numbers, healthy troops. These people needed her. There were more out there who needed her, too. This was a small step forward, and she could tell there would be difficult work ahead, but for now, her sense of purpose was momentarily brought back to her. They were the Inquisition, and she was the Inquisitor, once again.


	23. Ambivalence

                “This isn’t going as well as I’d hoped,” Amira said. She was sitting beside Cullen in her tent, his arms wrapped around her from behind. It had been two days since they’d found Ser Barris and his men, and they were making their way back to Skyhold.

                “It hasn’t been too bad, has it?” he asked. He leaned forward to kiss her on her cheek. He liked this—this sort of casual intimacy. Amira had asked if they could talk, which had initially worried him, but this felt like what he _wanted_. He wanted to be able to hold her while she confided in him. He wanted to be able to kiss her on the cheek and try to help her feel better about things. He wanted this casual intimacy, and he was admittedly a little surprised that she seemingly wanted it, too. They’d been _intimiate_ , clearly, but this was different. This felt like . . . more of a relationship.

                “Not truly,” she said, “but it could be going better. I constantly feel as though Ser Barris is going to try to skewer me with his sword. Did you see his face when I started the fire with a spell? It wasn’t even a big fire.”

                She scooted a tad backwards and to the side so that her back was more flush with his chest. Her shoulders hunched a little. She almost seemed like she was feeling self-conscious.

                “It’s just his training,” Cullen said. “I’m sure it’s very difficult for him to adjust, especially since he knows he doesn’t have many other options.”

                “I won’t have even _done_ it if I’d have thought it through. I would have started the fire with some flint or something. I just—it’s not something I think about. It’s just been a part of my life for so long.”

                “I know.”

                She turned around to face him, moving out of his arms. She looked serious.

                “You don’t think I’m using their fragility to just manipulate them, do you?”

                “What? Of course not.”

                Amira sighed and looked away from him. “It’s—I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like I am. I look at them and think about how much they could change the templar order after working with us. How much they could change it after working with _me_. I don’t want to bring them in just to fix something that I probably shouldn’t be the one to fix—or even say it needs fixing.”

                “Why not?” Cullen asked.

                “I don’t know anything about it. It’s not my order; they’re not my people. And I just . . . you know how I feel about the order. You know how I feel about their treatment of mages. I think any change I could affect would just be selfish.”

                “But we both know that’s not why you wanted to find Ser Barris,” he said, putting a hand on her worried face and running a thumb across her cheekbone. “You knew there would be people in need, people in danger, so you chose to seek them out. We don’t need to focus on the order at large right now—if ever. We should focus on how you simply wanted to do a good thing.”

                “And this is a good thing, isn’t it?”

                “It is.” He leaned forward and kissed her. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

                Her eyebrow arched and she smirked in that way that meant she was going to either say something deprecating or flirtatious. He lived for that smirk.

                “So you _didn’t_ just come here to sleep with me? Good to know.”

                Cullen laughed. “Just an added bonus.”

                She kissed him a little more aggressively than he had kissed her, but broke away more quickly than he was expecting.

                “Thank you for speaking with me about this,” she said. “I know it’s silly, and I’m probably going to ask you over and over again, but being reassured that I’m not just brainwashing them is helpful.”

                “Why wouldn’t I talk to you about it?”

                Amira blushed. “I just—I don’t know. You’re—I didn’t want to . . . I didn’t want _this_ to ruin our friendship somehow.”

                The air was heavy with an unspoken phrase: _Whatever “this” is._ He could tell they were both thinking it. He blushed at thinking they had already moved into more of a real relationship. He knew she cared about him as a friend. The tenderness with which she spoke to him, touched him, the look in her eyes when they spoke, suggested she cared about him past friendship, too. He scolded himself for not noticing her continued confusion and tension on the subject. He could see it now. He wondered if he hadn’t noticed or if he had _chosen_ not to notice.

                He looked at her, still looking down, still blushing. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

                “I wouldn’t let that happen,” he said. “I—you know my feelings on the matter. But I would not abide losing your friendship. You matter more to me than that.”

                She looked at him with the look in her eyes that he _knew_ meant she felt something other than just friendship. He leaned forward and kissed her again, fighting down the urge to just tell her that he loved her, just say it in words instead of obvious suggestions.

                She pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around him, putting her legs around him to straddle him as she pushed her chest against him. She ran a hand through his hair, moved away from his mouth to kiss his cheek, his neck, and pulled away to say something.

                That was when they heard the thin, frail yelp of panic from Ser Ashe outside the tent.


	24. The Red Templars

Cullen and Amira were on their feet immediately. Cullen had his armor back on quickly, but Amira left him behind to go see what was going on. He left the tent a few moments later and saw their campsite being attacked on all sides.

                Cullen’s mind worked most efficiently in battle. He assessed the situation. There were three red templars attacking from the north. There was a behemoth on the east. Ser Ashe was bleeding, but up and fighting one of the templars. Sers Barris and Holst were with him, along with Cole. The Iron Bull was charging at the behemoth, faster than Cullen ever thought he could charge, and Amira was running in his direction. That’s where they’d need the most help.

                He passed Amira, who had stopped running forward to attack at a distance. He joined Bull, slashing at the monstrous thing and ducking to avoid its claw-like arm. There was a sudden loud familiar crackle that set Cullen on edge. Bull laughed beside him, delighted, hitting at the behemoth again, but the behemoth was almost instantly unfrozen. Cullen turned around.

                The three templars had been taken care of—judging by the blood on his armor, Cullen would guess most of the work had been done by Ser Barris. But now, all three of them were charging towards Amira. Cole held his hand out, dagger in the other, looking conflicted about what to do. He looked at her, at the behemoth behind him, and then back at her. She was casting something against them. She looked panicked. _They_ looked panicked. They had their swords drawn. Amira tried to put a cage of lightning around them, but she had reacted too slowly. They were close to her now. They were going to attack her. She was going to attack them. The templars were going to attack the woman he loved, but there was also _an apostate mage about to attack a group of wounded templars._

Cullen froze. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to do.

                He was pushed to the side, hard, and the behemoth’s huge claw came down where his body had been. He scrambled, moving away, as Bull moved past him and in front of Amira.

                “ _NOW IS NOT THE TIME_ ,” he yelled, and the ferocity in his voice sent a shiver down Cullen’s spine and made him snap back to action. Amira did not need his protection, especially with Bull there—and he _logically_ knew the templars weren’t in danger. He needed to handle the behemoth. He whelled back around and swung his sword at it with a shout, Bull quickly running back and joining him. Soon, the three other templars had joined as well, and the behemoth crashed down in front of them. There was no more ice or lightning, Cullen noticed. He turned around.

                Amira was still where the templars had almost attacked her. She held a hand up as if to attack. Cole was behind her—he looked furious. Amira’s eyes were wide. She blinked, realized the fight was over, saw them all looking at her, and lowered her hand slowly. Her eyes went to the three templars. Slowly, she approached them, and Cullen realized she wasn’t looking at the templars in general—she was looking very specifically at Ser Ashe.

                “How badly are you injured?” she asked. Her voice was low, quiet, and steady.

                “Seen worse, Inquisitor,” he said. His voice shook.

                “I don’t now much healing magic and I doubt you’d . . . want that. I can—’’

                “You don’t know healing magic?” Ser Holst asked incredulously. Her freckles were dotted with blood. “What good is that?”

                “ _Morgan_ ,” Ser Barris said warningly. She glared at him.

                “It’s _Ser Holst_. And I have a right to say that! Why have a _mage_ around—an _apostate_ , mind—who can’t even heal?”

                “We _had_ a mage who could heal. He just—he isn’t here,” Amira said. Cullen tensed. Amira’s expression changed to baffled. “Wait, apostate? I’m not an apostate. I’m Dalish.”

                “Your face says differently.”

                “Oh,” she said. “You’re—you’re right. It’s—I apologize, I just, I forget sometimes. Here, this isn’t the time for this. Let’s get Ser Ashe laid down. Ser Barris, Ser Holst, Cullen, can you attend to him while I get some potions?”

                Cullen put one of Ser Ashe’s arms over his shoulder while Ser Holst took the other arm. They lifted him and helped him back to one of the tents. As they walked, Cullen could hear Bull and Amira speak quietly.

                “You okay, Boss?”

                “I . . . will be.”

                “Hey, where’d the kid go?”

 

                Cullen helped the other templars patch Ser Ashe up. He had been stabbed in the leg, and the wound was open and bleeding, but not incredibly deep—they couldn’t see any bone, just torn tissue. Ser Barris grabbed a needle and thick thread from his supplies and sewed the wound up, trying for delicacy and failing. On the first stab of the needle, Ser Ashe yelped, and Ser Holst cut a piece of leather from the bottom of her trousers for him to bite down on.

Once it was patched up, the wound wasn’t too serious, save for the threat of infection. They worked quietly, quickly, uncomfortably. Ser Holst kept looking at Cullen with such hatred in her eyes.

                “You’re walking a dangerous path, Ser Cullen,” she said.

                “Ser Holst, you will watch your tongue when speaking to a superior,” Ser Barris said.

                “He isn’t my superior. He isn’t a templar. He’s just some man with nice armor.”

                “Just you watch. She’s going to become possessed. Or she’s going to lose control of her powers. I heard about what happened to your last stronghold. Haven. If someone doesn’t keep her in line, you should expecting the same will happen to your Skyhold.”

                “ _Ser Holst_ ,” Ser Barris said, his voice sharp again. “The Inquisitor has been nothing but hospitable and kind to us. She has offered us shelter and work.”

                “Let’s hope the cost of that isn’t too high.”

                “ _Ser Holst_.”

                “She attacked us. You saw that, didn’t you, Cullen? She tried to cast on us.”

                “If I saw correctly,” Cullen said, trying to keep his tone even, “you attacked her _first_.”

                “He’s right,” Ser Ashe said quietly. “She was casting at that . . . thing. We attacked her. She was defending herself.”

                “And where does that self-defense end? What if she does something like that because she doesn’t like what we’re doing, or she doesn’t trust us?”

                “Amir—Inquisitor Lavellan would not have extended her offer if she did not trust you,” Cullen said. He could feel his anger rising.

                “She doesn’t even know us.”

                “It _does not matter_. She _would not have_ extended her offer if she did not trust you.”

                “Sounds stupid.”

                “It should sound _kind_.”

                “The two can happen at the same time.”

                At this point, Ser Cullen and Ser Holst had stopped working and were glaring at each other.

                “Can—can you two maybe fight away from my wound?” Ser Ashe asked. Cullen sighed.

                “Ser Barris, do you require any further assistance?”

                “Not that I am aware of. Thank you for your help. Please _thank the Inquisitor_ as well.”

                “Of course.”

               

                Cullen was shaking with rage. He was furious at Ser Holst and furious at himself. He couldn’t believe how conditioned he _still_ was to side with the templars over a mage, regardless of the situation. Regardless of who the mage _was_. He needed to find her and apologize.

                It was dark out by now. The campsite was in shambles, but a few lanterns lit it, along with flecks of light cast by the occasional firefly. Bull was kneeling down to the fire, trying to get it to light again. When he heard Cullen coming, he looked up, and simply said, “She’s looking for Cole.”

                Bull didn’t look happy with him. Cullen couldn’t blame him. He wasn't happy with himself, either.


	25. Cullen and Cole

                Cullen walked through the forest. He was grateful for the nearly-full moon and bright stars—they, combined with the fireflies, made it just possible for him to walk without stumbling over roots and vines. The sparse light made it more difficult to look for Amira, though.

                “They were going to hurt her,” he heard directly behind her. He wheeled around, startled, looking for Cole. He wasn’t in sight.

                “They were going to _hurt_ her,” he said again. This time, Cullen located the sound. Cole was sitting on a branch of a tree high above Cullen, but he could hear Cole clearly.

                “Please come down here, Cole,” Cullen said.

                “They were going to hurt her for being her. Are they going to hurt me for being me? Are you going to hurt you for being you?”

                “Nobody’s going to hurt anyone. Please come down.” Cullen blinked, and Cole was directly in front of him. Cullen gasped and took a step back. “ _Please_ don’t do that.”

                “They already do, though.”

                “They already do what?”

                “Hurt. They hurt themselves. They hurt each other. You do, too. So does Amira. So does Bull.”

                “Sometimes—sometimes it’s necessary.”

                “But how do you _choose_? It’s so difficult to _choose_. I almost hurt them, too, when they almost hurt Amira. I chose not to.”

                “It was a good choice.”

                “How do you know?”

                There was a long pause.

                “You didn’t know what to do,” Cole said eventually. “Torn between two tribes, new and old. Two minds now, talking at each other but never to, never with. Just _at_. You love her.”

                “I—’’

                “You don’t need to say anything.”

                “To . . . to whom?”

                “Anyone.”

                Cullen sighed. “Do you mean about _this_ or just in general? I know nobody _technically_ needs to say anything to anyone, but—’’

                “You do. It helps you think. Words are solid; words are strong. Words make things real. This specifically. You do need to speak to people in general. But you love _her_. Even the other part of you, the one you don’t like. Both parts love _her_. But they still don’t talk to each other or with—just at. Why?”

                “It’s . . . a difficult adjustment to make. I’m trying.”

                “You’re not,” Cole said, but he said it softly, kindly, and he smiled apologetically when he said it. “You want the other part to go away. But it won’t.”

                Cullen’s chest was tight. He didn’t need this right now. He just needed to find Amira. He just needed to—

                “You distract yourself instead. If I can’t see it, it’s not real—a ghost at the window isn’t a ghost if you close your eyes and hide under the covers. You push it away and out of your mind, but it claws back up, scratches at the window, whispers in the wind, tugging at the covers.”

                “Cole—’’

                “It’s not a ghost, though,” Cole said. His voice quickly became something more solid, less wistful. It grabbed Cullen’s attention. “It’s you. It isn’t bad. _You_ are not bad. You are not a bad thing to be afraid of. You are _you_ , all parts, just as she is her, all parts. It is the same.”

                “I chose to be what I am,” Cullen said. “Amira is what she is because of . . . who she _is_.”

                “I chose to be what I am, but I am also what I am because of what I _am_. You chose to be what you are because of who you _are_. You chose then. You are choosing now. You make choices because of what you are. Is it any different?”

                “I—I don’t know, Cole. Truly, I don’t.” He sighed.

                “They are afraid of her.”

                “I know.”

                “You are still afraid of her.”

                There was a pang in Cullen’s heart. “I—’’

                “It’s all right,” he said, sincerely. “People will always be afraid of her. She knows this. The difference is that you are trying not to be. You tried before you loved her. You tried before you liked her. They’ll try, too, I think. Ashe misses his mother and wants to go home. His home is gone but he doesn’t know yet, not really—but he thinks he does. He wants a home and he believes her. Barris feels lost and doesn’t know what he is anymore. He feels like you did. You can help him. Holst is angry and her thoughts are loud. She isn’t scared. She’s just loud. I don’t know if she will try, but she wants to. Some part of her is quiet, and that’s the part that wants to try, but the loud is just so _loud_. They don’t know what I am, do they?”

                Cole’s shifts in topic made it so hard for Cullen to keep up, but he tried. “I—no. They don’t.”

                “Will they?”

                “I don’t know.”

                “They are so afraid of things _being_.”

                “I know.”

                “You’re afraid of me, too.”

                “I—’’ Cullen started to defend himself, but he knew Cole was right. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m trying.”

                Cole gave him a small smile. “I like you, Cullen. I think you are good.”

                “Thank you, Cole.”

                “Shall we find Amira?”

                “I’m surprised you don’t already know where she is.”

                “I do. She’s bright. I can see her. But you need to walk around a little longer. And she needs you to, too.”

                “All right. Let’s walk, then.”


	26. Involvement

                Cullen tried to make his morning departures from Amira’s tent discreet, but the other templars woke earlier than he’d expected. He woke early, but he’d fallen out of the practice of rising before the sun. He was caught with a sharp glare from Ser Holst, a shy averted gaze from Ser Ashe, and a desperate look towards the sky from Ser Barris. He walked back to his tent, blushing, to change and put on his armor. It had been two days since the attack on the camp, and while morale had somewhat improved (it seemed like Ser Barris and Ser Ashe were trying to thank Amira with some deference after turning on her), he couldn’t imagine this was going to help.

                Lo and behold, when Cullen left his tent, Ser Barris was close outside.

                “Could I have a word, Ser Cullen?” Ser Barris asked. Bull had woken up, and shot Cullen an exaggerated eyeroll behind Ser Barris’s back. Cullen wished he could find the humor in it right now.

                “Of course, Ser Barris,” he said, walking over to the tent the templars were housed in. As soon as they shut the flap behind themselves, Ser Barris crossed his arms.

                “Ser Cullen, I know your personal affairs are no business of mine,” he said, “but I can’t help feeling as though knowledge of your relationship with the Inquisitor might have . . . given us pause in regards to your credibility.”

                Cullen looked down. He felt like he was being scolded by a superior, like he was sixteen again being yelled at for flirting with a girl in a nearby town.

                “I apologize, Ser Barris,” he said. “The intention was never to mislead you. I can understand your frustration. If it helps, my— _involvement_ with the Inquisitor is something rather . . . recent. Had it been something more . . . established . . .  I would have disclosed the information to ensure transparency.”

                “I appreciate that, and I apologize for the uncomfortable discussion of your personal life.” Ser Barris sighed. “I want to trust you, and I want to trust the Inquisitor. I think it showed a great deal of selflessness for her to ask about Ser Ashe directly after we almost attacked her. I don’t think you’d intend anything other than to help us. I just—it’s difficult to assume the best with the person we thought we could trust most _involved_ with the person who destroyed our order, who _also_ happens to be an apostate.”

                Cullen furrowed his brows. “Ser Barris, I beg to differ about the order. I do not think the Inquisitor was the one to destroy it. The order was already failing when I left. I believed this long before I even _met_ the Inquisitor. And even if that weren’t the case, you cannot blame the Inquisitor for the red lyrium or for Corypheus. She has spent weeks destroying red lyrium mines, not to mention putting her life on the front line when battling Corypheus. Surely you must see this.”

                “I am . . . trying. Did you feel no unease serving under an apostate?”

                Cullen laughed. “Of course I did. Though, in full honesty, when she first came to us, you could hardly say I worked under her. She came to us a prisoner, and began work for us as little more than a figurehead. I don’t think any of us expected her to be what she is now, but she showed the determination, the caring, the _strength_ we needed—I digress. The point is that yes, I was very worried. Daily. Constantly. But she has proven herself to all of us time and time again, and my loyalty would be with her regardless of my feelings for her.”

                Ser Barris gave him a sly grin. “You’re sure this _involvement_ is so recent, Ser Cullen?” Cullen blushed, but before he could interrupt, Ser Barris held up a hand. “A joke, only a joke. I want things to be civil between us all. Better than civil. Friendly. I don’t think we have many options outside of the Inquisition, and I _do_ think the offer is exceedingly generous after everything the _other_ templars have been through. It’s just a difficult adjustment.”

                “Of course.”

                “And I apologize for Morgan,” he said. “She’s—she’s difficult, but she is loyal, and while she may be difficult to warm to people, she is important to me. She and Joseph—Ser Ashe—they are what little I have of family. If she eventually does come around, I can guarantee nobody will fight harder for you than she will.”

                “Even if she doesn’t, this isn’t why we’re helping.”

                “It really isn’t, is it?” he asked, with a small smile.

                “It’s helpful, but no. The Inquisitor genuinely wanted to help for no reason other than to help.”

                “It’s good to know. Thank you for speaking with me, Ser Cullen.”

                “Of course. Please, always feel free to pull me aside if there’s something you need to discuss.” Cullen nodded at Ser Barris and turned to leave, but Ser Barris’s voice stopped him.

                “Ser Cullen,” he said, “do you think you would ever return to the templars if there was reform? I’ve heard tales of your valor. You would be an asset if we chose to rebuild, if we establish more mutual trust.”

                “I don’t believe so,” Cullen said. “I’ve found a new calling. I appreciate the thought, though—and from what I know of you, I can say that I would trust reform if it were in your hands.”

                “Thank you, Ser Cullen. I hope you will think it over. Just in case.”

                Cullen smiled and left the tent, feeling once again like a commander instead of a teenager getting yelled at.

 

                By noon, the group was only a few hours away from Skyhold. Amira’s smile had turned bittersweet, Cullen noticed—she seemed happy to be home and away from this stressful situation, but sad to be back away from the Graves. Ser Ashe, whose condition had improved remarkably, was excitedly asking Amira about what Skyhold was like when a large black bird swooped down and landed on Cullen’s shoulder. He could tell it was one of Leliana’s ravens. There were two notes attached to it. The first, much smaller, was from Leliana.

 

                _Commander,_

_We will start preparing accommodations. I look forward to meeting your relatives. I hope the trip has gone well. According to Bull, it’s been a . . . rousing success._

_\--Leliana_

                Cullen immediately glared at Bull, who looked confused. Cullen knew Leliana couldn’t resist a pun or innuendo. Bull _must_ have said something. Wait—meeting his relatives? He opened the second letter to find the reply from Mia. He read it quickly, his face paling, and read over it quickly again. He didn’t expect she’d actually say yes. It was a good thing, of course. It was just—he looked at Amira, his eyes wide, and his face still pale.

                “Is something the matter?” she asked seriously.

                “I—no?” he said unconvincingly. “Um. Hm. My sister will be visiting Skyhold.”

                “Oh,” Amira said quietly, a fake smile plastered on her face.

                “A sullen sister, a Cullen sister, but wonders if she really is anymore,” Cole said.

                “What exactly _is_ this kid?” Ser Holst asked.

                “I think he’s older than you,” Ser Ashe said.

                “I am Cole,” he said simply, smiling at her. She replied with a disgusted noise that almost had Cullen confused for Cassandra for a moment.

                “Well,” Amira said tensely, “Let’s . . . continue on. Skyhold is just a few hours away now, and I’d like to return before sundown.”

                The rest of the trip, Amira stayed quieter than usual, trying to push the idea of meeting Cullen’s family out of her mind.


	27. Returning to Skyhold

                The return to Skyhold was rushed and chaotic. Amira ran to fetch Josephine and Leliana, then ran to the settlements of mages to inform them of the templars’ presence and quell their concerns, then ran back to the war table for the meeting. She was incredibly grateful to Cullen for doing most of the speaking during the meeting. She noticed offhandedly that Josephine’s eyes were rimmed with red—she’d have to ask why after the meeting. When Leliana asked what Amira’s next steps would be, she asked Leliana to start tracking down more templars. Leliana nodded, and the meeting was concluded.

                As they started leaving, Cullen caught her eye, but she gave a subtle shake of the head and looked to Josephine and then back at him. He nodded once, and left for his quarters while Amira stayed behind. She was exhausted, but something was clearly wrong.

                “Josephine?” she said as Josephine sat down at her desk. Leliana left the room quietly, and Amira sat down on the opposite side of the desk. “Is everything alright?”

                Josephine gave her a frail fake smile. “Yes, thank you. I should inform you, though, that Varric intends to take his leave soon, and Blackwall made his departure while you were gone.”

                Her smile faltered for just a second.

                “I didn’t know Blackwall was leaving,” Amira said.

                “Nor did I,” Josephine replied. “He—he sends his regards and says that he still fully supports the Inquisition. He just believes that _Skyhold_ may not be the . . . best place for him right now.”

                Amira gave her a sympathetic smile. “Josephine, this isn’t a meeting. You don’t have to be so professional.”

                Josephine teared up. “Thank you, Amira. It—he and I were—it was complicated.”

                Amira stifled a chuckle. She could understand that. “What happened?”

                “He was outside of my station. We both knew it could not be. It was taking a toll on both of us, so he decided to leave. A commendable decision, if unpleasant.”

                “That must be so difficult. I’m sorry.”

                “It will pass,” she said with a sigh. “Right now, I am just trying to focus on the next steps of the Inquisition.”

                “You shouldn’t keep it all bottled up,” Amira said. “When Solas and I—when Solas left me, I was a mess. I was in such poor shape. You saw how I was at meetings. I wanted to just focus on my work, but Cassandra and I would talk about it sometimes, and it made everything feel so much better. I’m happy to be your Cassandra if you’d like to talk.”

                “That . . . would be lovely,” Josephine said with a small smile.

                “Let’s go to my quarters. It’s a bit more private than here—better for frankness,” she said, and Josephine chuckled. The two walked to Amira’s quarters, walking up the stairs and out of earshot.

 

                The two were sitting cross-legged on the balcony, enjoying the night air. The days were becoming pleasantly warm, even at this elevation, and tonight almost felt like early summer. Josephine was laughingly finishing a story of Blackwall’s stuffy affection, and Amira was listening with a smile, regretting the time lost not speaking with Josephine more.

                “—and even at the slightest compliment, he would become flustered in the most endearing way.”

                “Gods, he almost sounds like Cullen,” Amira said without even thinking about her words. As soon as she realized what she’d said, she flushed and covered her mouth with a hand. Josephine laughed.

                “I am sorry to tell you this, but Iron Bull sent Leliana a letter saying you two were . . . involved.”

                “He did _no such thing_ ,” Amira said, aghast.

                “If it helps, we were already very aware of Cullen’s feelings for you!”

                “That does not help! This is a private matter! Wait—for how long have you been aware?”

                “Of your involvement with Cullen?”

                “Of his feelings for me?”

                Josephine blushed. “I do not this I should—’’

                “Oh, no no—you are not allowed to discuss my sex life and then not give me more information if you know it!”

                Josephine sighed. “Fine, fine. I have not _factually_ known until just after the battle with Corypheus.”

                “And what if we’re not speaking in hard facts?”

                “ _Technically_ I have known for . . . much longer.”

                “Josephine.”

                “Perhaps just after losing Haven?”

                Amira sighed and dramatically fell back on the ground behind her with a groan. “You _can’t_ be serious.”

                “He simply—he simply had a very specific look when he found you in the snow. He had been pacing for hours. He’d wanted to go out into the snow and look for you, you know, but we would not let him. We needed him with our troops. But he did fight us.”

                “And nobody _told_ me?”

                “You were clearly taken with Solas! Besides, he obviously did not want you to know.”

                “That’s _so long_.”

                “And . . . what of your feelings for him?”

                Amira sat back up, but she didn’t look at Josephine. “I don’t know,” she said. “Truly, I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t ready for it. He’s—he’s very dear to me. Of course he is. He always has been. I just—I don’t know what I want from this, and I don’t know how I feel.”

                “So—what will you do?”

                “I don’t know.”

                Josephine furrowed her brow. “I do not think Cullen will be happy with not knowing for very long.”

                “I’m not trying to lead him on,” Amira said, feeling defensive. “And _he_ initiated whatever this is.”

                Josephine blushed but raised an eyebrow. “Did he? I think that means Bull might owe Leliana—I—never mind!”

                “Josephine, was there a _bet_?”

                “Certainly not.”

                “Josephine.”

                “. . . Perhaps.”

                Amira tried to be mad, but she just wound up laughing. How had she been so oblivious to this when clearly everyone else knew?

                “I think you care for him much more than you let on, Amira,” Josephine said. She was looking wistfully off the balcony, out towards the mountains. “And I think he is afraid to let on how much he cares about you. As someone who cannot pursue the one she cares about, and as someone who advises you on your political image, I can say that it would be frustrating if you were to stop a good thing from happening simply because of old wounds.”

                “The Inquisitor sleeping with her army’s Commander is good for my image?”

                Josephine chuckled. “You forget how Orlais works. This would not be ‘the Inquisitor sleeping with her Commander’; this would be two star-crossed lovers, broken between the lines of mage and templar, their love forged in the fires of battle and near apocalypse. Your relationship would be seen publicly as both exciting _and_ a metaphor for bringing the mages and templars back together, especially now that you are seeking out the surviving templars.”

                “And what of Ferelden?”

                “Ferelden has already seen your triumphs. They will not care about your personal affairs.”

                Amira blushed. “We—we’ll see, I suppose.”

                “I suppose.” Josephine turned to Amira and smiled at her before giving her a hug. “Thank you for speaking with me about Blackwall. I hope all goes well with you and Cullen. But I really do need to return to work. There is so much to do, even still.”

                Josephine left, leaving Amira sitting in the breeze, looking wistfully off of the balcony just as Josephine had. She heard the door click, but was surprised to hear a knock at it just a few moments later. She got up and answered it.

                “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting,” Cullen said, “but I was wondering if we could talk?”


	28. Titles

                Amira uncomfortably walked with Cullen over to a couch and sat down with him. She didn’t know what kind of thing he needed to talk about, but she doubted it was anything professional, so she figured to avoid the desk. Cullen did look serious, though, which made Amira anxious.

                “What did you want to discuss?” she asked reluctantly.

                “I . . .” Cullen started, but he stopped with a sigh. “I don’t want to make more haste than is needed. I want to discuss what we _are_ —but only because I think it is _wise_ to discuss. No, that’s not accurate. I’m sorry—this is not something I am used to. I would also like to know.”

                Amira nodded slowly. “I don’t think I can blame you for that.”

                “If this isn’t something you want—’’

                “No! No, that’s not it at all,” she said, putting a hand softly on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t want you to think that.”

                Cullen’s face hardened. “It’s a little difficult not to think that when you only speak to me about it reluctantly.”

                Amira’s heart fell. Her eyes widened. “Oh—I didn’t realize . . .” She trailed off, thinking about all of the times she had pushed away any titles, pushed away any discussion of feelings or want besides something physical on top of their friendship. All of those times, she had only been concerned about her own feelings not being hurt—she hadn’t let herself stop to think about him.

                And she did care about him. And it _was_ more than friendship with a convenient physical elements. Looking at him, she knew that. She looked at him and saw so much more than his face and his features; she saw all the times she’d come to him for help, all the times he’d made her laugh when she felt like she’d never be able to laugh again, all the times he reassured her and stood by her and supported her. She saw him lying next to her, asleep, small rays of sun poking through the tent, and she felt the feeling of never wanting to leave his side.

                “Cullen, I am so sorry for how I have treated this,” she said, looking directly into his eyes. “I was acting selfishly. I am sorry.”

                Cullen simply nodded once, accepting her apology. She was glad his reaction was not to tell her it was fine; it was something she always hated and disagreed with. If it were fine, she thought, she wouldn’t be apologizing. She preferred his nod much more.

                “Is ‘seeing each other’ too vague?” she asked. “I only prefer that because anything else sounds so juvenile—’’

                “No, that’s perfectly fine,” he said. His face had returned to a small smile. She couldn’t help but smile back. “It will be easier with some kind of title once my sister arrives. I would say we don’t need to tell everyone, but . . .”

                “Ah. You heard about the bet as well?”

                “ _Bet?!_ ”

                Amira laughed. “It seems as though Leliana had more faith in you than Bull did.”

                “This is _incredibly_ inappropriate—’’

                “Let them have their fun. It’s already been done, and I doubt us yelling would make them stop.”

                Cullen sighed, leaning back on the couch and running a hand through his hair. “I feel as though our friends will sooner be the death of me than any of our enemies.”

                “Likely,” Amira said. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He sat back up straighter and leaned towards her as well, kissing her softly on the lips, one hand in her hair.

                “I’m glad that we are . . . seeing each other,” he said quietly, still so close to her face. He kissed her again.

                “I am, too,” she said.

                “You know,” he said, “it would be nice to be in an actual _bed_ together.”

                “Would you mind if we just stayed like this tonight?” Amira asked. “It’d be nice to sleep _alongside_ you, but I don’t think we should _sleep together_ tonight. I think just _being_ together is important.”

                Cullen looked surprised, but he smiled again. “I think that sounds nice.”

                Amira took Cullen’s hand and led him to the bed, lying down as he took off his armor.

                “Why do you always wear that, even in Skyhold?” Amira asked.

                “Corypheus attacked Skyhold, didn’t he?”

                “Fair point.”

                He laid down next to her and pulled her close so her arm and head were on his chest. She nuzzled up to him, listening to his heartbeat and his breath. For a little while, they talked. They talked about Cullen’s family and Amira’s clan; they talked about Cassandra as the Divine, about the Maker and the elvhen gods; they talked about Dorian and Tevinter; they talked about the Dalish versus the Circle versus apostates. They talked about things Amira would be uncomfortable talking about with almost anyone else, but even when they disagreed, she still felt comfortable. She still didn’t feel worried.

                And then, they didn’t talk at all. They just laid together silently, listening to the breeze, Amira still listening to Cullen’s heart beat steadily inside his chest, until the two of them drifted off, holding on to each other, for once everything quiet, and still, and simple.


	29. Mia's Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think this fic might be coming to a close soon. Ending it soon feels natural. Not TOO soon, but soonish. So, I'm already planning my next fic--my question is, would you guys prefer me to have a hard ending to this to give a feeling of closure, or still periodically update with just little snippets of things instead of more plot? I could also do them as separate one-shots and just say that they're connected to this fic. I'm still new to this and so I don't know what would be best. Let me know in the comments? :)

                News spread quickly that Amira and Cullen were officially an item. Cassandra sent her a letter _far_ too quickly to have just been notified—Amira assumed Bull had sent word as he did to Leliana—saying that she was happy for them, and that she had hoped they would find comfort in each other. Dorian sent her a smiliar letter, but with much more gloating about how he _knew_ they were perfect for each other _ages_ ago and everyone else simply got the idea from him. Vivienne said nothing, but greeted her with a warmer smile than usual. Sera made _countless_ lewd jokes and Amira tried desperately not to laugh at them. Varric simply told Amira that Curly was a good guy, and she said she agreed.

                The word also spread quickly about the templars. They were sent out on missions by Cullen and they always performed their duties quickly and efficiently, but Skyhold was slow to warm to them. It didn’t help that each time Ser Barris or Ser Ashe thanked the Inquisition, Ser Holst spurned it. Amira constantly had to tell the other mages that the templars were only here to help, not to keep a watch on them, but most mages still seemed worried.

The news of her and Cullen didn’t help, either. In two weeks, it had not only spread throughout Skyhold. Amira was told that the people of Ferelden and Orlais were already discussing it, and while most supported the relationship, the mages did not.

                “The mages of the Inquisition are assuming the worst of Cullen,” Josephine said at a meeting.

                “The Dalish are of the same opinion,” Leliana said.

                Cullen crossed his arms uncomfortably. “I’ve left the order. I’m not a templar. I’m not here to keep watch over Amira.”

                “Inquisitor,” Amira corrected him distractedly. He nodded but did not correct himself.

                “We are aware of this,” Josephine said, “but we need to make the rest of Thedas aware of it as well.”

                “I have always supported my fellow mages,” Amira said. “I have always shown myself to be on the _side_ of the mages. I would have hoped that my affiliation would them would outweigh their opinions of the templars, _especially_ for a singular _ex-_ templar.”

                “We had hoped the same,”Josephine said with a sigh.

                “It’s frustrating how something so trivial on a grand scale would upset them so much.”

                “Is it so trivial?” Leliana asked. “People have done great and terrible things in the name of . . . a _significant other_. And you are no longer just a person, Inquisitor. You know this. You are an icon. You are a metaphor, especially for the elves, and especially for the _mages_. To them, this is not trivial; to them, this could signify all of the changes you have affected being unraveled. This is their lives.”

                Amira looked at Josephine. “You said this would be a _good_ metaphor. Two sides uniting.”

                “And I still believe this is true. It will just take some . . . working with.”

                Amira sighed. “I don’t even like that the entire world is privy to my personal affairs to begin with!”

                “This is not a choice you get to make,” Leliana said sharply. Amira immediately sobered up and blushed. “Your rights to freedom were taken when the mark was put on your hand. You serve a greater purpose than you own personal life. This is the price one pays for being as significant as you are—and do not tell me again you did not choose this. We are _all_ aware you did not choose this. It is simply a truth you must accept, unless you wish to step down as Inquisitor and dissolve the entire Inquisition over the desire for privacy.”

                Amira looked down. “You’re right. I apologize. What can we do to amend this?”

                “We will think of something.”

 

                But nothing was thought of for the next week. The murmurs about Amira and Cullen died down a bit, which was a relief; the gossip was starting to strain on their relationship, and it had only just properly started. It was something she found she needed after days of meetings and planning and talking to the mages. She looked forward to seeing him every night, even if just to vent to him or be in his presence. Just having him around helped her feel calmer.

                And then Mia came to Skyhold.

                Amira had been in her quarters, sitting at her desk, writing through notes and lists and ideas of how to approach the mages about herself and Cullen. She had crossed off several options and she was trying to jot down more, but coming up blank. There was a knock on her door, and she was slightly disappointed to see an attendant instead of Cullen there.

                “Excuse me, Inquisitor, but Ser Mia Rutherford is here,” the attendant said. Amira’s heart stopped beating for a second.

                Amira had not been worried about Mia until she was _here_ , and then, Amira panicked. She had never had to meet a significant other’s family before. What was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to act? She was alerted to Mia’s presence too quickly. Didn’t they have another few weeks to prepare? But she was here _now_ —did Amira look fine? Should she put on something nicer? Did her hair—no time. She needed to go greet Mia. She needed to go.

                She walked quickly, with faked confidence, down the main stairs of the castle. She hoped she looked impressive and not just pompous. There was a woman, tall and sturdily built, standing next to Cullen on the ground floor. She was crossing her arms and an eyebrow was raised as Cullen clearly tried to explain something. This must be her.

                As she approached, the arguing between the two did not die down.

                “. . . and then you have me travel _all this way_ and your guards don’t even believe I’m who I say I am?” Her voice was raspy and high. Amira could see freckles on her cheeks. Her eyes and hair were the color of Cullen’s, but her complexion a bit tanner.

                “I apologize!” Cullen said. “I did not invite you here just to yell at me.”

                “Well, that’s what happens when you ignore your family, don’t tell us you’re not dead, and then don’t even wait for me at the gates of your fancy castle so the guards don’t let me in!”

                “It’s not _my_ castle, Mia—Oh! Inquisitor Lavellan!” Cullen said, looking at her with desperate gratitude as she approached. Mia turned, looked at Amira, blushed, and started to bow.

                “Inquisitor Lavellan, Herald of Andraste, it is such an honor to meet you,” she said. Her voice wasn’t dripping with deference like those who usually greeted Amira as such. Her voice was quiet and thankful. Amira usually shied away from the title of Herald, but for a moment, she was touched.

                “Please, there’s no need for such formality,” Amira said with a smile.

                Mia laughed. “You saved Thedas, didn’t you?”

                “I—I had help,” Amira said feebly. Mia laughed again.

                “Please, Inquisitor, the formality is something you deserve. Not like my good-for-nothing brother. Can’t believe someone like you would hire someone who can’t even write his own family.”

                Amira laughed. “In my defense, I didn’t exactly hire him.”

                “You didn’t?”

                “It’s . . . a long story,” Cullen said with a sigh.

                “We can tell you as soon as you’re settled in,” Amira said. “Has someone taken your things? Have you been shown to a room?”

                “Her things have been taken, but I wanted to show her around a bit before taking her to her room.”

                “Of course,” Amira said with a smile. “You two get caught up.”

                Without thinking, she kissed Cullen on the cheek before leaving. It was just a force of habit at this point. Before Mia could see her face turn red or her eyes widen in embarrassed horror, Amira turned and walked away with an awkwardly stiff stride, hoping it would seem stately and not betray just how mortified she was. As she walked, she could hear Mia’s voice grow incredulous and Cullen’s grow more defensive. Amira hoped she had not completely ruined her first impression with Cullen’s family, but she doubted it.


	30. The Coin

                “You? And the Inquisitor?” Mia asked loudly. “How?”

                “Well that’s not a very kind—’’

                “No, no, I’m pleased! I didn’t mean how as in, _oh you’re awful, how could you be with the Inquisitor_ —I mean how as in, _you’re a templar and she looks to be an apostate_? I don’t think I could say the first thing if I wanted to. Haven’t really . . . haven’t really known you in years.”

                “Was. I _was_ a templar.” Cullen crossed his arms. He started to walk towards the tower. He didn’t really know how to respond to the second part of what she said. She was right. He knew they’d be apart when he joined the order, but now he wondered if he’d made the decision to have a new “family” too hastily when he’d already had one that cared about him.

                For a moment, he thought about Dorian, whose family had been incredibly abusive; about Krem, whose family had seemingly been incredibly abusive; about Bull and Sera, who hadn’t even really had families; about Amira, who’d grown up in a clan she hated and felt alienated from. He almost felt selfish for having his family and the order, too—and abandoning both.

                Mia shrugged. “You grow up with something for so long, it’s always going to be a part of you. Even if just a little bit.”

                “I still don’t really know how to answer that question. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it before you got here. It’s apparently caused quite a stir.”

                “I can imagine why. But no, I’ve been traveling.” She paused and sighed. “I’m very happy for you. It’s just—a little much to take in, isn’t it? First, my brother runs off to become a templar. The next thing I know, I hear about the rebellion, I don’t hear from you for years—and then you’re part of the Inquisition, and then the world is falling apart, and then it isn’t, and now you’re with the Inquisitor . . . I don’t know. I’m happy for you. I am. It’s just strange.”

                As she spoke, her words got quieter and quieter. The loud, playful scolding turned into something distant and wistful, almost nostalgic. Cullen looked at her intently for the first time. He saw the small wrinkles around her eyes and how much stronger her jaw had become, how much more stern her gaze had become. She still looked like Mia—just not like the Mia he knew. He absentmindedly touched the scar on her lip that she had never seen before.

                “I—yes,” was all he could manage in reply.

                “You’re famous back home, you know. A local hero.”

                “Oh.”

                “Ser Cullen Rutherford, Templar Hero, Survivor of Kirkwall, Commander of the Inquisition. And now, I’m sure, Beloved of the Inquisitor.”

                Cullen blushed. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

                “I know. Forgive me—I didn’t mean to be so . . . melancholy. I missed you.”

                Cullen pulled her in to a hug. “I missed you too, Mia.”

                “Well, you could have shown it by writing more,” she said, and Cullen laughed.

 

                Mia settled in quickly. Amira had the idea to invite Mia to the tavern after dinner to have her meet some of the Inquisition in a more relaxed environment. Cullen was hesitant at first, but Mia responded with excitement.

                Cullen and Mia ate dinner together and got a little more caught up. Mia had left home and gone to work at a farm nearby. She hadn’t married—just never had an interest, she said, which Cullen could respect. She’d grown close to the family who owned the farm, and with her help, they’d made a good standing for themselves in town. They became known for their crops, always the best around, and the bread another newer worker had started making. She’d kept in touch with _their_ family, too. Cullen learned that his second sister, Lily, had married. She had two young sons. His brother, David, did financial work for some merchants somewhere in Orlais now. He’d been seeing a woman, but it hadn’t lasted.

                Cullen told Mia about the Inquisition. He told her about Amira being taken as a prisoner, about her stepping into the fade, about the Winter Palace, about the templars and the mages . . . When he told her everything, it felt so normal to him, so mundane at this point, but she just looked riveted.

                When Cullen had brought her up to the present, Mia asked, “Do you ever think about what would have happened if you would have stayed home?”

                “I’ve hardly had time to think of _anything_ ,” he said. “I’m trying not to dwell on the past, though. I thought about it sometimes when I first joined the Inquisition, but I just came up blank. I can’t imagine who I’d be if I hadn’t done what I’d done. I wouldn’t have been able to help with any of this as much as I have. I wouldn’t have met any of the people I have.”

                Mia chuckled. “You mean you wouldn’t have been able to meet The Inquisitor.”

                “That’s not—’’

                “Cullen, I might not have seen you for a long time, but you’re still my brother. You care about her a lot more than you’re letting on, I can tell. Saw it in your eyes when she kissed you on the cheek.” Cullen tried not to blush. “This is new, isn’t it?”

                “It is.”

                “But not for you.”

                “. . . No.”

                “And she doesn’t know that?”

                “I don’t know.”

                “You’re in love with her,” she said with a smile.

                “I—yes.”

                “So tell her that!”

                “It’s complicated,” he said, and Mia rolled her eyes. “She’s just out of a relationship. She wants to take things slowly. It’s fine—I can be patient.”

                Mia laughed. “Unless you’ve become an entirely new human being since I last saw you, I don’t believe that for a second. You’ve never been patient.”

                “I have absolutely been patient!”

                “One time, I said I had a present for you but that you’d have to wait for it, and you opened up _every single one of my things_ until you found it.”

                “I was ten!”

                Mia rolled her eyes again. “You can keep trying to convince me, but it’s not going to work. Come on, let’s go to this tavern. I want to see if the stories about all of you are true. Do you actually have people who can disappear right before your eyes?”

 

                The tavern seemed louder and more cramped than usual—or maybe Cullen just hadn’t been here in too long. Maybe everyone was just excited to meet someone new. Even the templars had shown up, including Ser Holst. She looked surly, though not quite as much as usual.

                Immediately upon meeting Mia, Sera and Bull asked for embarrassing stories from his youth. Cullen tried to interrupt with a stern, “ _No_ ,” but Mia spoke over him. Everyone who still remained here in Skyhold (save for Vivienne, who hated the place) was sitting at a table, eagerly awaiting.

                “There was one time,” Mia said, “Cullen must have been no older than nine or ten. He was helping us all bring in firewood, and at first, he started rearranging everything, but it wasn’t ten minutes before he was telling everyone where to put _every single log_. We should have known then he’d wind up commanding an army.”

                Amira, Josephine, and Leliana laughed, but Varric, Bull, and Sera looked disappointed.

                “Directing around family—that’s nothing shocking though, is it?” Sera said. “ _Must_ have something better than that. What’s sisters for except making fun of their brothers?”

                “Yeah, come on, Mia,” Varric said. “If I’m ever going to immortalize this group, I need to have the biggest range of source material possible.”

                “No, no,” Mia said, “I’ve already gotten back at him for leaving home. I’ll try to be a nice sister—for now. We’ll talk if I have reason to be mad again.”

                “Certainly there is something else funny but not too scandalous?” Josephine asked.

                “Well—fine, but only because he’s not a templar anymore. Before he left, he and our little brother, David, would always fight over this good luck coin David found—well, Cullen would tell you _he_ found it, but he was wrong. David would tell me each time Cullen would try to take it before playing chess against me, not that it ever worked. The fights they would have over that silly coin!”

                Mia laughed, but Cullen looked at Amira, who was looking down at her drink and blushing. She was smiling, just a little bit.

                “So right before Cullen left, he was told that he wasn’t supposed to have any possessions—a templar thing, isn’t it?” she asked, looking to Ser Barris.

                “It is,” he said.

                “Right. So he’s saying his goodbyes and then David comes up to him, eyes all big and full of tears, and he just _shoves_ the coin at Cullen. Any normal person would have just taken the coin and hid it without worrying. It’s just a coin. But Cullen stood there for a second, looking like taking that little coin was the hardest decision he’d ever made. He took it, of course, and thanked David—it was actually sweet—but that moment of desperation will always stick in my mind. I have never met a child who loves rules more than Cullen.”

                The group all laughed, except for Amira, who looked at him and smiled. Her head was propped up on her hand, elbow on the table, and he could see the faintest outline of the coin on her wrist, tucked underneath her sleeve.


	31. Connections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heads up more smut. also sorry if i'm slow with updates and responding to comments. between work and studying for finals, i've been really stressed and tired. when summer hits i should be back up to full speed.

                That night, after everyone else had cleared out of the tavern, Cullen followed Amira back to her quarters. Amira could tell Cullen was tired, but he still owed her some answers. She led him, her hand in his, through the doors and onto her bed, pushing him down gently and curling up next to him. Amira pulled the coin out of her sleeve and held it up to him with an eyebrow raised.

                “Do you always keep that there?” he asked as she placed it on her bedside table.

                “Usually,” she said. “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.”

                “Your wrist isn’t typically where I’m looking.”

                Amira laughed. “So, you’re just trying to shove your contraband off on me, aren’t you? Trying to make sure the templars don’t come for you for having it?”

                “You’ve found me out,” he said. “My plan’s been foiled.”

                “Sarcasm! Your sister brings out the best in you.”

                “I think that’s you,” he said, and he kissed her. “I’m glad you keep it on you.”

                “I like to think it’s been helpful,” she said, “even if it never helped you in chess.”

                “We can’t be sure. Maybe the good luck was that I never won—maybe it drove me to become a templar so I could prove myself after years of failure, and that brought me here.”

                “Shockingly optimistic tonight for my ever-practical Cullen.” She kissed him on the cheek. She could almost swear he blushed.

                “It’s been a good day. A good few weeks. Besides, it’s not optimism; it’s just seeing different paths for the situation. All tactics.”

                “Oh, my apologies,” she said with a laugh. “I had mistaken you for someone with a heart where there is only a stack of notes and plans.”

                He hesitated for a moment and started to speak, but stopped himself. He said, “Well, that seems like an error on your part,” before pulling her close and kissing her.

                “It means something to you, though, clearly,” she said, still close to his face after the kiss.

                “It does.”

                “And you gave it to me. Before any—any of this.”

                Cullen paused before saying, “It wasn’t before any of this for me.”

                Amira thought back to the time between Solas and Corypheus. She thought about how she’d liked talking to Cassandra and Cole and everyone else, but the only person she’d really _wanted_ to talk to, to be around, was Cullen. She thought about blushing, her heart fluttering, when he told a joke or said something kind.

                “I’m starting to think it wasn’t for me, either.”

                Cullen kissed Amira, and she slowly moved on top of him. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, tangling a hand in her hair. He moved his kisses down to her neck and she moaned softly, quietly, as he turned them over so he was over her. Still kissing her, he moved a hand to the top clasp on her shirt, and took her slightly arched back as an answer to his silent question. He slowly undid the clasps, lightly kissing her newly exposed skin as he went. He removed her breastband, and her hands began on his armor, but she gave a disgruntled sigh a few seconds later. He chuckled and removed the armor himself, setting it down lightly on the floor so it didn’t clamor. Amira pulled him back closer, running her hands under his shirt and up his chest before taking the shirt off entirely.

                 They took off their trousers silently save for the noise of kisses and soft moans as Cullen situated himself sitting up in the bed, back to the headboard, and Amira straddled him, sitting in his lap. Amira’s heart was fluttering more than it had been any time she and Cullen had slept together, except for maybe the first time, which was strange; there wasn’t the hunger, the urgency now that there had been those other times. This was calmer and slower, but somehow, it felt even more desperate. It was a need other than physical. Usually, she would suppress that, remind herself to take this slow, to not be too serious. Right now, though, she decided to let herself feel it.

                Amira paused for a moment, stopping her hands from running up and down his back, just to kiss him. He put his hand on her cheek, running his thumb softly over her cheekbone. She kissed his cheek and then a slow trail down his neck, down his chest, sliding down the bed as she went. She could feel Cullen’s heartbeat start to race a little as she passed his muscled stomach, below his belly button, running her hands up his thighs. She gripped the base of his hard length tenderly.

                “Amira, you don’t have to—’’ Cullen started, but his words were cut off by his moan as she ran her tongue up his cock and circled around the tip. He thrust forward just slightly, clearly trying to hold himself back. Amira looked up for a second. She made eye contact with him and smiled, watching him run a hand through his hair, as she closed her lips around him and slowly moved back down. He moaned and she moved back up again, hollowing her cheeks and weaving her tongue across his skin as she moved.

                “Maker’s breath, woman,” Cullen sighed, and Amira smiled against him.

She gradually increased her speed, using her hand to move up and down the length she couldn’t fit in her mouth without gagging, listening to his moans and feeling his involuntary thrusts to determine how fast to move, how much pressure her hand sure use, how to move her tongue. She could feel Cullen’s body tense as he put a hand in her hair, not moving her head but rubbing her scalp affectionately. She could feel herself getting wetter, warmer, her own breath becoming shallower just from listening to his moans.

                His breath hitched as she moved faster, and he started saying something to alert her to how close he was, but she used a free hand to rub the inside of his thigh to reassure him with a muffled noise of confirmation from her throat. After a few more fast bobs of her head, Cullen came, moaning and thrusting softly. She swallowed and slowly started kissing back up his body, feeling his ragged breaths. His hand was still tangled in her hair. She situated herself back in his lap, kissing his neck.

                Cullen took his hand out of her hair, pulling her close to hug her before moving his hands between them, pushing her back tenderly so he could cup her breasts. She arched her back as he toyed with her nipples, pinching them and rolling them between his fingers. She moaned, and he kissed her neck, sucking and biting delicately. He carefully lifted her up, moved his legs out from under her, and laid her down on the bed, her head facing the footboard. He moved a hand down her body and slid one finger into her easily. She moaned, thrusting against his hand. He slid a second finger in, moving deeper, bending them up and rubbing the roof of her. She moaned again, louder, and he continued the movement, sliding back and forth inside her. Her moans grew louder and her thrusts more desperate. When he started using his thumb to rub her clit she came, her hips bucked and she yelped his name, called out to the Creators.

                Cullen put his arms under her, lifting her up and pressing her against him as he returned to his position with his back to the headboard. He kissed her cheek, and she was thankful for the moment to steady her breath. She was _also_ thankful that he was hard again; while she would have been fine to stop now, she’d miss the feeling of _him_ inside of her instead of just his fingers. She lifted herself up and then slid onto him, chuckling as a quiet “ _Maker_ ” escaped his lips. She put her hands on the headboard behind him, slowly starting to thrust up and down on top of him. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed being on top with him; the pressure hit differently and she liked feeling more in control. Judging by the entranced look on his face, she figured Cullen felt the same. He was breathing harder and gazing reverently at her. She smiled down at him, reveling at his expression, and he smiled back until she thrust deeper down onto him and his smile was broken by a moan. Amira laughed until she was interrupted by a moan as well, brought on by Cullen sucking hard on one of her nipples. Amira retaliated by thrusting hard, leaning forward, and pulling at his hair, which caused his breath to hitch as he fought against a moan in his throat. She thought herself the victor until he reached down to rub at her clit, earning him a loud sudden moan from her. He laughed and then she laughed, too.

                The two then looked at each other as she continued to thrust, eyes even more dilated and breaths even more ragged from the thrill of a momentary competition. As they locked eyes, she realized that while this was _really_ only just sex, there was something deeper, some fundamental level of understanding between them. They just . . . worked. They worked as a team—they worked as a pair. They understood each other. It manifested during sex, obviously, but she knew in that moment that it did in so many other ways, too. Her heart fluttered again, looking at him, his eyes dark with need, and want, and something more. With their eyes locked like this, the understanding passing between them, she thought for a moment she had the courage to say the words that terrified her—but she thought better of it, channeling that feeling instead into deep thrusts that sent both of them moaning again. Cullen thrust up into her in time with her movement, hands running up and down her back until one came around to her side, down her thigh, and then between them as he started rubbing her clit.

                The pressure built, both of them moaning and sighing each other’s name. They thrust harder, deeper—Cullen’s free hand was firm on her hip, and Amira wished one of hers could be in his hair, but she needed the stability of her hands on the headboard, especially right now when it was so hard to focus on thrusting because everything just felt _so_ amazing and—

                Cullen thrust up into her, deep and just a _little_ rough, and Amira moaned loudly, her back arched as a shudder of sensation ran through her. He continued thrusting up in her as her mind went blank and she failed to thrust for herself, too swept up in the intensity of her orgasm. She breathed his name between moans. In a few thrusts, Cullen came with a moan, and the two of them fell back against the headboard. They laid there, panting, Cullen not even moving out of her for a moment as they both steadied their breath. He removed himself from her and then slid the two of them lower on the bed so he was laying with Amira on his chest instead of sitting upright.

                Amira was exhausted. She nuzzled Cullen’s chest as he stroked her hair, and she fought to keep her eyes open but knew she wouldn’t last more than a few minutes at best. She looked up at Cullen, whose expression was about as sleepy as hers was. She sighed and smiled at him, and he smiled back. She kissed his chest and then moved her head back to nuzzled up to him. The last thing she saw before she drifted off was the coin on her bedside table, glinting faintly in the moonlight.


	32. Chess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like we'll be wrapping soon (probably after finals, probably between 3 and 5 more chapters) and then I'll start another thing where I put deleted scenes. Thanks for your input, everyone. :) If you have anything you'd like to see in the deleted scenes, like any prompts you'd have or any requests, let me know. I'm writing a list of scenes as they come to me for now. I feel like this probably isn't the right place to have this discussion, but I don't know where else to put it, so oh well? I'm really bad at AO3 I'm sorry

                The chess piece clinked lightly against the marble board. Amira looked at the move. A pawn simply advanced two spaces. Maybe this would be straightforward enough. Maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult. Cullen was only a child when he’d fail to best her, wasn’t he? Maybe she could walk away from this game feeling as though she hadn’t shamed Cullen to his family. Maybe she could walk away from the game feeling as though she hadn’t failed Mia and her idea of the Herald of Andraste. It wasn’t as though she were unintelligent—she just didn’t like all this planning, this strategy. She was honestly used to just setting things on fire from afar and letting Bull or Cassandra take care of the rest.

                Mia had been here for three days now. She’d spent time with everyone, eaten with them, told stories and jokes—and Amira had _been_ there, but they hadn’t exactly spent much time together. Amira was so worried about embarrassing herself or Cullen she’d avoided the situation until Mia invited her to a game of chess.

                Amira looked down at her two lines of pieces. Mia had played a pawn two squares forward, so clearly that was a perfectly acceptable move to make. Or was it too easy, too predictable?

                “Herald, I think you may be taking this game a bit too seriously,” Mia said with a small smile. Amira blushed.

                “Oh—sorry,” Amira said, and she moved a pawn forward. “I haven’t played in quite a while, and when I did, I honestly wasn’t paying too much attention.”

                “Don’t worry,” she said. “Unless I’m playing against one of my siblings, I’m not competitive.”

                “I’m just not exactly a strategist. That’s more or less the reason why we have Cullen. Even during battles, I leave the strategy up to others who are better suited.”

                Mia moved a knight in front of one of her pawns. Amira did the same. Solas had taught her a strong play once. She hadn’t really paid attention—she wasn’t exactly focusing on chess—so she wasn’t sure she’d be able to remember it, but she’d try.

                “If you don’t mind my asking,” Mia said, “you’re Dalish, right?”

                “I am,” Amira said, “or—was. It’s . . . complicated.”

                “It must have been difficult being the Herald, the Inquistor, being Dalish,” Mia said, but then quickly continued, blushing, “I mean that—that people must have made it difficult for you. Not that it must have been difficult because . . . I . . .”

                Mia sighed, but Amira chuckled.

                “I know what you’re trying to say,” Amira said. “Don’t worry. And yes, it was. I was never really allowed outside of my clan growing up, so I didn’t realize just how bad it would be. When I first got to Haven, the quartermaster thought I was there to clean. She called me knife-ear. She just instantly assumed I was some kind of servant. Even in Oralis, at the Winter Palace, when everyone _knew_ who I was, I was still called 'rabbit.'”

                Mia and Amira both moved a bishop. Amira prayed to Dirthamen that Mia wasn’t executing the same play as her.

                “That sounds terrible. But what do you mean when you say you weren’t ‘allowed out’?” Mia asked. She moved a pawn forward.

                Amira sighed and moved a pawn absentmindedly. “I didn't have the best upbringing in my clan. They weren’t keen on a First wandering around by her lonesome. Or at all. They weren't the worst family possible, obviously, and Cullen's troops actually saved them once, but . . . At times, it felt almost like what I imagine a Circle would feel like—oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to get political—’’

                Mia laughed. “Isn’t that your job?” She moved a rook and her king. Amira knew the move had a name, but she couldn’t remember it.

                “I suppose to. I just—I don’t mean to stir up any controversy. You’re already going to see me lose at chess. I don’t want to pile my radical political ideologies on top of that.” She moved another pawn.

                “Are you worried because I’m Cullen’s sister?” Mia asked with a smile. She moved a pawn two spaces forward.

                “Absolutely,” Amira said. She noticed her bishop was endangered and moved it back. “This isn’t something I’ve had to do before.”

                “You’re the Herald of Andraste,” Mia said. She moved another pawn up two spaces. “You don’t need to worry.” Amira blushed as she moved a rook forward. “ _Oh_ ,” Mia said. “You’re—you’re Dalish. Right. Not a believer in Andraste, then?”

                “I . . .”

                “No, no, it’s fine. I’m not going to judge you for your beliefs. I just think it’s funny, you know? I believe you’re the Herald. I think most people do, and you don’t. It’s just funny, is all.” She moved a pawn forward again. “I think Cullen thinks you are, too—but that’s not why he loves you, so don’t worry about that.”

                Amira blushed furiously. It was the first time anyone had explicitly used that word. She could feel the tips of her ears burning as she moved her bishop back again.

                “Forgive me, did I—did I say something wrong?” Mia asked. She stopped playing for a moment.

                “No, no, not at all,” Amira said, waving her hand in an attempt to be nonchalant that came across more frantic than anything else.

                “You seem upset.”

                “No, no, no.”

                Mia raised an eyebrow. “Inquisitor—Amira—has anyone told you you’re a terrible liar?” Amira sighed. “What did I say to upset you?”

                “I’m not upset, just . . . anxious.” Amira fiddled with a bishop. “It’s nothing, really.”

                “Oh— _oh,_ you two still haven’t used that word, have you?” Amira didn’t know how to respond. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have pried. This is your business with him, not mine.”

                Mia moved another pawn. Amira moved a knight.

                “Can I ask another question that’s probably too personal?” Mia asked. “I promise it’s not about my brother, if that helps.”

                Amira laughed in gratitude. “By all means.”

                Mia took one of Amira’s pawn with one of her own. “I noticed you don’t have your blood writing? Is that why the situation’s complicated?”

                Amira laughed again, but this time almost sardonically. She hadn’t asked about her brother, no—she’d just accidentally ventured into the territory of why any words about feelings made Mia anxious.

                “More or less,” Amira said. “The blood writing meant something different than what the Dalish say. Something I wasn’t happy about. The person who told me the truth about it offered to remove it for me, so I asked him to. But it’s more complicated than that, I think. I’m not Dalish anymore, but I don’t really feel not _not_ Dalish. I don’t always agree with the Dalish, but I also feel a need to support them. I don’t feel like a First or a Keeper, but I don’t really feel like an apostate, either. I am Dalish in my blood and my upringing, but now that I’ve been able to build my _own_ life, I’m . . . I don’t know. I feel like I am from many places and none. So, not Dalish anymore, no—but not _not_ Dalish, either.”

                Amira took Mia’s pawn with her knight. Mia took the knight with her own.

                “I . . . can’t say I know what all of that means, exactly,” Mia said, “but it sounds frustrating.”

                Amira took Mia’s knight with her queen. “It is. Thank you for listening to me ramble on about it.”

                Mia moved another knight out. Amira moved her bishop across the board. She wasn’t going to corner that king if she just stayed to her own side.

                “I’m happy to listen,” Mia said. She took the bishop with a pawn, and Amira cursed herself for not seeing such an obvious flaw in her move. “You know, I’ve already told you an embarrassing story about Cullen, but I haven’t seen him in years— _you_ must have some embarrassing stories I don’t know about.”

                Amira saw an opening to corner the king. She moved her queen forward. Mia moved her king over. Amira moved her queen to mirror the move. Mia moved her king back, and Amira moved her knight forward. Mia moved a knight forward, and Amira moved her queen again, quickly. Was she winning? Mia moved her king. Amira took a pawn with her bishop, threatening the space Mia was moving her king back into. Amira looked at the board. Mia looked at the board. The two looked at each other and blinked.

                “Which one of us gets to break it to Cullen?” Amira said.

                “Do you have a coin to flip?”

                Amira blushed, but then smiled. “I—I do, actually.” She took Cullen’s coin out of her sleeve. Mia looked at it, her eyes wide, and then smiled at Amira.

                “By the Maker, he certainly does . . . _care_ about you, doesn’t he? Let’s say heads you get to tell him, tails I do—though it’s not really fair given it’s now _your_ lucky coin, is it?”

                “Maybe it still thinks it’s Cullen, and it’ll land on its side. Finally give him the good luck he always wanted it to give.”

                The two of them laughed, and Amira tossed the coin, grabbing it and putting it down on the back of her hand.

                “Tails,” Amira said. “It looks like you’ll have the honor.”

                “Is it too cruel to announce that you won against me on your first try in front of everyone else?”

                “You’re his sister. I think that’s your job. Besides, he’s given you plenty of years to catch up on. Actually, speaking of—you asked for embarrassing stories. Has Cullen told you about the time we all played Wicked Grace?”


	33. Spirits and Tevinter

                Mia’s effect on Skyhold had been impressive, especially in such a short amount of time. It was almost like she’d become part of the family here. She told awful jokes with Bull and Sera; she told stories with Varric; she even spoke to Cole sometimes, and she was certainly less hostile to him than many of Amira’s friends had been.

                But the most noticeable way she had brought something good to Skyhold was her effect on the templars. Almost every day, Mia could be seen talking with them, asking them questions, and trying to get them to talk to the Inquisition more. Ser Ashe was warming up more to the others in Inquisition, talking to Sera and Krem from time to time. Ser Barris could be found in the tavern more often, even just to sit and relax.         Even Ser Holst smiled sometimes with her around. It was something they talked about during the war table meetings. Morale had gone up dramatically since the templars had brought such tenseness with them. Leliana even joked about asking Mia to stay permanently just to make sure everyone stayed civil, and they all wondered whether she was actually joking.

                When Amira asked Mia what her secret was, she just shrugged and said, “I think they needed someone who wasn’t one of you before they could feel welcome. They needed a smoother transition.”

                And it seemed like she was right, which was unfortunate; if she stayed here any longer, she wouldn’t be something separate from the Inquisition any more, and her affect would probably be rendered moot. Amira decided that she would savor these calm few days before Mia had to leave again—they had just about another week with her.

                Today, she had planned to meet up with Mia in the Herald’s Rest and have a drink after the war table meeting. The meeting went about as well as they had since she’d brought the templars to Inquisition. People in need were helped quickly, but there were no new leads on other templars, which was starting to worry Amira. She could use a drink.

                As she approached the tavern, though, she noticed people awkwardly leaving and started to hear some kind of commotion from inside. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she realized that without thinking (or paying), she had grabbed a staff from a merchant’s table. She could feel her blood pumping. The last time there had been a commotion in Skyhold, it had been Corypheus. She wouldn’t let something like that, even a _little_ like that, happen again. Who had let a threat through their gates? Was there someone in their forces who had turned against them?

                She opened the door and raised her staff, and she was immediately buffeted by a wall of noise. First, it was the yelling of everyone inside the tavern, directed at each other; then, it was the noise of countless “ _Woah!_ ”s and “ _Calm down!_ ”s and “ _Don’t attack!”_ s directed at her. She blinked and took the scene in. There was no obvious threat. Nobody had weapons drawn. People looked upset, but the only people here were people she knew, people she trusted. Bull, Krem, Lace, and Sera were glaring at Ser Holst and Ser Barris. Ser Ashe looked frightened, Cole looked worried, and Varric looked ready to leave.

                Mia was here. She was looking at Amira who was standing there, stolen staff raised for attack. Amira was immediately ashamed. She put the staff down and tried to maintain a serious expression even though she still felt guilty about her reaction.

                “Someone explain what is going on,” she said evenly.

                “You never said you had _friends_ in Tevinter,” Ser Holst said, the venom in her voice heavy and cutting, “and you _definitely_ never said you had a blighted _spirit in your ranks_.”

                Amira looked to Cole. Cole looked down in shame. Amira glared ferociously at Ser Holst.

                “You will not speak about Cole that way,” she said.

                “He’s a _spirit!_ You’re a _mage!_ Are you truly so stupid you don’t see how badly this could end? You’re endangering everyone here!”

                “I am capable of controlling—’’

                “ _You’re just a mage!_ ”

                Sera took a step forward. “Should’ve known you’d all be the same, up your own arses about everyone and acting like you’re so much better. First you go and insult Krem and Dorian, and now you insult Amira?” She started walking away, but Bull grabbed her by the shoulder.

                “No getting your bow,” he said. His voice was deep and quiet. “If anyone’s going to kick their asses, it’s going to be me.”

                “Nobody is going to kick anybody’s asses,” Mia said. “You’re all acting like children. This is ridiculous.”

                “She’s threatening our lives!” Ser Hoslt said, pointing to Amira.

                “ _She_ said Dorian should just get himself killed!” Krem said, pointing to Ser Holst.

                “Enough!” Amira yelled. “Everyone sit down, right now!”

                There was a moment of silence before everyone took a seat around the table. Amira walked over and sat down, taking the staff with her but putting it on the floor beside the table.

                “Ser Ashe,” she said, looking at him. He jumped at his name and looked at her with wide eyes. “Explain to me what happened, in detail.”

                Ser Ashe looked to Ser Barris. Ser Barris was glaring, but he nodded.

                “It—it started when we were all talking here,” he said quietly. “Mia was telling us a story and it was going fine until Bull walked in and asked if anyone had seen you. We told him you were in a meeting, and he got quiet, and then he said that Dorian’s been having trouble in Tevinter. First, Morgan—Ser Holst, I mean, sorry, _sorry_ —laughed and said that anyone in Tevinter should have trouble, and then Bull said that Dorian was there to help, and Ser Holst got angry because we don’t know why people from Tevinter are helping us, and then Krem said _he_ was from Tevinter. But then Sera asked what was wrong with Dorian, and Bull said he’d been hurt a few times, but he hadn’t said how badly. Then, that thing started talking—’’

                Everyone but the other templars, Mia, and Amira wheeled to glare at Ser Ashe. His eyes widened and he held his hands up defensively.

                “Sorry, sorry! Cole! _Cole_ started speaking in that strange way he does, and Bull asked him how bad it was, and then he—he _knew_ , and he started saying strange things. Ser Barris asked how he could do that, and Sera said it was because he was a spirit—’’

                “I didn’t know they didn’t know!” Sera said, crossing her arms. “They’re right that you should’ve told them that much. Wrong about Dorian and Krem still, though.”

                “Please, Ser Ashe, continue,” Amira said.

                “That’s—that’s it, I think.”

                “So let me get this straight,” Amira said quietly. “Bull, Krem, Scout Harding, and Sera are angry with Ser Barris and Ser Holst because they said disparaging things about Dorian and Cole.”

                “Right,” Ser Ashe said.

                “Can I assume that Varric agreed but didn’t feel like it was his fight to have?” She directed the question at Ser Ashe again.

                “That’s—that’s the impression I had, yes,” Ser Ashe said. Varric huffed.

                “Ser Barris and Ser Holst are angry because of Cole and our allies from Tevinter. So I assume that you, Cole, and Mia were simply caught in the crossfire?”

                “Yes.”

                Amira looked around the table. “And all of you thought the appropriate thing to do was to cause a commotion in the tavern, in the _middle of Skyhold_?”

                There was silence until Ser Holst said, “I don’t even know why we’re listening to you. You don’t care about the good of the people. You don’t even care about the well-being of the people you call your _friends_. You’re endangering everyone here. You’re reckless. You’re stupid.”

                “Morgan—’’ Ser Barris started, but she turned and glared at him.

                “It’s Ser Holst!” she yelled, standing up. “You might have abandoned everything we care about, but I haven’t! You’re all free to die here at the hands of Tevinter or abominations or _demons_ , but I’m done.”

                She got up and walked out. Ser Barris looked at Amira and said, “Inquisitor, I am to be a part of this discussion, but I need to go speak to Ser Holst. She has nowhere to go.” Amira nodded, and Ser Barris got up and followed Ser Holst out the door.

                “Ser Ashe, do you feel a need to leave?” Amira asked.

                “To be honest, Inquisitor, I’m—I’m not sure.”

                “I appreciate your honesty. Bull, can I see this letter from Dorian?”

                She looked to Bull. The anger had gone from his face and it was replaced by sadness and deep-seated worry, which made Amira even more concerned.

                “What? Oh. No. No, definitely not. But I can sum up the parts that aren’t dirty. He just said things weren’t going as well as he’d hoped—that he’d gotten into a few fights. The problem is that he wasn’t being dramatic. He was acting like it was fine. That’s how you know it’s not.”

                Amira nodded solemnly. “We will find a way to help,” she said, and her voice was tender for a moment.

                “Thanks, boss.”

                “Cole, are you fine?” she asked.

                “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought being what I am was better than being something else, but then everyone was upset. I didn’t mean to make anyone angry. I was trying to help.”

                “I know. I’m sorry they couldn’t see that.”

                “She threatened to hurt me, but she was scared.”

                “Now might not be the time, Cole.”

                Cole nodded and looked down. She hated hurting him any more than he already had been, but he was going to exacerbate the situation, even if he didn’t realize it. Ser Barris returned wordlessly to the tavern and sat back at the table. He did not have Ser Holst with him. Amira made eye contact with him, and it was understood that Ser Holst had left.

                “Ser Barris, I’m sorry for misleading you about Cole,” she said. “I was worried about his safety. He’s a dear friend, but I realize that my mistrust in you was unfair.”

                “It wasn’t,” he said. “If Morgan had known and stayed here, she likely would have tried to kill him. I can’t blame you for not telling us, but I can’t blame Morgan for her anger.”

                Amira nodded. “Please answer me honestly: do I need to worry about you or Ser Ashe in the presence of Cole?”

                Ser Barris paused. “Not right now, I don’t think. His presence makes me uncomfortable. I’m not pleased about it. But I—I do trust you. You’ve done a lot of good for Thedas, and from what I’ve heard, he’s been a help. If I become more uncomfortable, or if I start seriously fearing for our well-being, I will speak to you, not try to harm him.”

                “Ser Ashe?”

                “He—he frightens me,” he said. “I’m sorry, but he does. But I won’t harm him if he doesn’t harm me.”

                “Cole would not harm you, regardless of what you think about spirits. If both of you can continue being civil, you will be allowed to stay, but if either of you threatens Cole in any way, I will ask you to leave. Is this fair?”

                “Yes, Ser,” Ser Ashe said.

                “Yes, Inquisitor,” Ser Barris said.

                “Good. On the matter of Dorian and Krem—these are two men who have _also_ been of great help to the Inquisition. Neither is a blood mage, and both have been cast out from their home country.”

                “Neither of us said anything against either of them, Ser,” Ser Ashe said. “We only said things about Tevinter. It was Ser Holst who said things about Dorian.”

                Amira turned to Bull. “Bull, you speak negatively of Tevinter _constantly_. I hope you cannot fault them for this.”

                Bull huffed. Sera rolled her eyes.

                “Amira, can I leave?” Varric asked boredly.

                “No, you may not. You were a part of this, even if you didn’t want to be. Mia, do you have anything to say about any of this?”

                Mia shook her head. “I tried talking them down, but they wouldn’t listen.”

                Amira nodded. “Thank you for trying.” Amira sighed. “This—I expect better of this from all of you. I’m calling another meeting. I expect you all to apologize to each other like adults while I’m gone. Cole, could you come with me, please?”

                She and Cole got up from the table, and Cole followed closely behind her. As soon as they were outside the tavern, Amira turned around and hugged Cole. At first, he froze, not knowing what to do, but then he hugged her back.

                “I’m so, so sorry for how they treated you, Cole,” she said. “I hope you know you’re one of my best friends, and I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. I’m sorry if they hurt your feelings at all.”

                “Thank you,” he said, and his voice was quiet. She held the hug for a few seconds more before breaking away and walking back towards the tower.

                “Could you tell me more about how Dorian is _actually_ doing?”

                “Healers help the hurt, but blood’s drawn,” Cole said. “Dangerous in a dark place, blood bringing blood. He worries. He misses him. He misses you—and then he _misses_ , thrown off guard, distracted, a knife in his side. He should know better than this by now. He should know better. It’s harder without them around to help.”

                “Shit,” Amira said. “He’s—fine though, isn’t he?”

                “Sleeping,” Cole said, “I think.”

                “You think?”

                “No dreams, just quiet, but not dead.”

                “Unconscious?”

                “I can’t tell. He’s far, and he’s quiet now.”

                “Quiet Dorian makes me nervous,” she said. Her heart was beating quickly. She’d been worried when Dorian had left, but she hadn’t expected outright violence. She needed to do something. She needed to help.

                “You’re angry,” Cole said. “That’s what it means when your eyebrows go together, isn’t it?”

                “Yes, Cole. Thank you for your help. I’m not angry with you. You can go back to the tavern if you’d like, or you can go somewhere else if you’d feel safer.”

                “I like my corner,” he said. “I’ll go there and be quiet.”

                Amira gave him another quick hug before he disappeared. She walked quickly up the stairs past the mural, past where Dorian _should_ be, up towards Leliana. She needed to call a meeting, and she needed to call it now.


	34. Weighty Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters and then I think we'll call it a wrap! All of my essays were due yesterday, so I might actually be able to finish this earlier than expected! Thanks for all of the comments and kudos. They mean a lot to me. :)

          “We have three matters of business to discuss," Josephine said tensely. The room was quiet. Amira was crossing her arms and her eyes were red. She was fighting off tears. Cullen stood across from her. He’d hugged her when she’d gotten him for the meeting and he’d seen how distressed she was, but she couldn’t let herself be Amira right now. She needed to be the Inquisitor.

          “Four,” Leliana said. Josephine looked at her in confusion, but Amira just huffed in frustration.

          “No, we have _one_ thing to talk about, and we need to talk about it _now_ ,” she said. “Dorian’s in trouble. We need to help him. _I_ need to help­­—’’

          “Inquisitor,” Josephine said calmly, “please. I think we should discuss _everything_ before making any decision.”

          “I have the feeling that you might want to hear us out before planning any travel,” Leliana said. Her eyes flicked to Cullen and then back to Amira. Again, Josephine looked confused. Amira sighed. She needed to be calmer about this, or at least more collected.

          “Fine,” she said, “but I’m positive Dorian is going to take priority. What are our four things that need to be discussed?”

          “First: clearly Dorian is one of these matters,” Josephine said, “but as we can all _agree_ he is likely the most important, I think we should wait until the end of our meeting to discuss him so we can take care of everything else first. Second: Ser Holst. If she has left, she might bring unpleasant word of us wherever she goes, especially now that she knows about Cole.”

          “She will have no sway,” Leliana said. “We have seen the desperation of the remaining templars. The people do not listen to them. Those who do probably already dislike us anyway.”

          “Leliana’s right,” Amira said. “We can’t worry about Ser Holst right now. If anything, we should be more worried that she’ll be killed than about her spreading her opinion.”

          Cullen smiled at her, but her expression remained stony.

          “Third: the other templars. If they are posing a threat to anyone in the Inquisition, we should discuss how to handle them.”

          “Cullen, can your men keep a watch on Ser Barris and Ser Ashe?” Leliana asked.

          “No,” Amira said. “I’ve already spoken with them, and I’ve already betrayed their trust once. I don’t want them thinking they’re become villains. We have discussed the issue. I put my trust in Ser Barris and Ser Ashe.”

          “Inquisitor, I do not know if—’’ Josephine started, but Cullen cut her off.

          “I think Amira is right,” he said. “We need to show them that they’re trusted. Otherwise, they’ll lose their trust in us even more than they already have.

          “Inquisitor,” Amira corrected Cullen. He did not correct himself. Amira looked at Cullen sharply, but he met her eye contact and did not back down from it.

          “What is the fourth matter of business, Leliana?” Amira asked.

          “Some of my agents _may_ have found a lead,” she said.

          “On the templars?” Amira asked.

          “No . . . on Solas.”

          “Why?” Amira asked immediately.

          There was a moment of silence. Leliana looked to Cullen, whose eyes were wide.

          “I do not mean to say that you still have _feelings_ for Solas,” she said, looking between Amira and Cullen. “I simply mean that perhaps knowing this information, you might want to send _troops_ in for Dorian, knowing that you cannot travel to Tevinter, and instead look for Solas yourself.”

          “No, I want to go help _Dorian_. I don’t care about finding Solas. Why can I not go to Tevinter?”

          There was another moment of silence. Both Josephine and Leliana were looking at Cullen, his eyes still wide. Amira would have been offended that anyone was surprised by her reaction if she wasn’t so panicked about Dorian. She’d been hurt, but she had no lingering feelings for Solas himself. She hadn’t since before they left for the Graves to find the templars. She wouldn’t have slept with Cullen if she still had feelings for Solas. This just seemed obvious to her.

          “ _Why can I not go to Tevinter?_ ” she repeated.

          “Inquisitor, we assume that _everyone_ in Tevinter wants you dead,” Josephine said. “For myriad reasons.”

          “This is nothing I haven’t experienced before,” she said. “I can handle some mages.”

          “ _Blood_ mages, Inquisitor,” Leliana said. “There is quite a difference.”

          “This is ridiculous. We’re talking about _Dorian_ being in trouble. Bull and I are going to Tevinter to help him, and that’s that.”

          “Amira, you cannot just storm into Tevinter because your friend is in danger,” Cullen said. “You need to send—’’

          “ _Inquisitor_ ,” Amira said. She glared at Cullen. The room was quiet and tense. He held her eye contact.

          “Leliana, Josephine,” Cullen said quietly, “could I have a moment alone with _Amira_ , please?”

          “Of—of course,” Josephine stammered while Leliana started walking to leave. The two left the room, Cullen and Amira looking at each other silently until the door closed.

          “You cannot seriously think I’m _not_ going to Tevinter,” Amira said.

          “Amira, _you_  cannot seriously think this is a feasible plan!”

          “And you need to stop calling me Amira at the war table! We call each other by our titles for _reasons_. I can’t be Amira when we’re here—I need to be the Inquisitor so that you can stop trying to protect me and let me do my job!”

          “Can you not see that you can _never_ just be the Inquisitor to me?” he yelled, slamming his fist on the table. “That isn’t an option for me! It doesn’t matter what I call you; you’re going to be _you_!’’

          “That’s completely unfair! If you were in my position, I wouldn’t undermine your decisions and try to protect you just because I love you; it would be _condescending_ to think you could handle yourself!”

          “You what?”

          There was a pause. Amira blinked. She hadn’t even really realized she’d said it. She didn’t feel anxious, though, like she did when she _thought_ of saying it. It was already done, and besides, it was true.

          “I love you,” she said. “I’m sorry I haven’t said it earlier.”

           “No, no, I understand, I’m just—I’m happy to hear it. And I love you, too.” He walked over to her and kissed her, but Amira pulled away after one kiss.

          “I don’t mean to take away from this moment, but while I do _love you_ , I have a friend who’s in danger and I need to help him. Would it be fine if we talked about this later? I promise I’m not just putting it off.”

          “I know you’re not,” Cullen said, his voice harder again, “but I still stand by Leliana and Josephine. You _cannot_ go to Tevinter. You _will_ be attacked.”

          “I’ve been attacked before—’’

          “Not by an entire _country_ ,” Cullen said. “You must see how this is a different situation.”

          “It doesn’t matter. One of my best friends is in need of help—’’

          “And he told you _explicitly_ that he didn’t want you to help. That he needed to do this himself. I am sure he knew it was going to be difficult.”

          “But he didn’t expect to be attacked this much!”

          “Then _write to him_ ,” Cullen said, “or _send someone to check on him_. You cannot just _go_ to Tevinter. And neither can Bull, for that matter. Both of you would be killed.”

          Amira’s eyes started tearing. “Cullen, I can’t just let him get hurt. What happens if he—’’

          “I know,” Cullen said. “We’re not going to let that happen. We just _also_ can’t storm in.”

          “What if a letter or an agent gets there too late?”

          “Aren’t you underestimating Dorian now? You said I shouldn’t try to protect you because you could handle yourself, but this is exactly what you’re doing to Dorian.”

          “But—this is a different situation. He’s alone and the _whole country_ —oh. But—but no, this is different, he’s already hurt!”

          “Amira. He _explicitly_ said he didn’t want your help. He’s been badly injured before, hasn’t he?”

          “Yes, but I’ve always been there when it’s happened!”

          Cullen sighed. “Please try to put yourself in my shoes for a moment. Imagine if Tevinter wanted _me_ dead—actually, they likely do—and I wanted to storm in with _The Iron Bull, my Qunari friend_ , to save Dorian. If you _knew_ there were other options, do you really think you would just let me go?”

          “I . . .”

          “I would say I know you fairly well, Amira, and I know that you would not let me or Bull endanger ourselves like that when there are other options that can be taken.”

          “I just—’’ Amira sighed, and she felt herself break. He was right. It _was_ a terrible plan, and it _would_ and with her and Bull probably being killed. She felt a few tears rebel against her will to stay strong and resolute. She wiped them away in frustration as Cullen wrapped his arms around her.

          “I’m just so worried about him,” she said.

          “I know. But we won’t let anything happen to him. We’ll send some of Leliana’s agents. If we need to, we’ll send some of my troops. He’ll be fine.”

          “But what if he isn’t fine right now? Cole said—’’

          “If he’s not fine right now, I . . . I hate to sound callous, but I don’t know if there is much we could to do help. Sending you there would take longer than sending some of Leliana’s agents.”

          “I know.”

          He held her as she cried for a few moments. Letting it out was a relief; she’d had to hold herself together so many times after meetings and it had just caused her to be more anxious, make more rash decisions, have more frequent nightmares. She was still worried, but she felt the immediate panic start to dissipate.

          “Thank you,” she said once she had let as much out as she would allow herself to do. He kissed the top of her head lightly. “We should call the others back. We have agents to send out, and we need to do it now.”


	35. More Letters

A LETTER FROM THE IRON BULL TO DORIAN

_Kadan,_

_Send me a letter as soon as you can telling me how you are and what the fuck happened. They're sending in some of Red's people. I know you got hurt. Don't forget we have Cole here. If I don't get a letter within a week I'm coming to Tevinter myself to kick everyone's ass and you aren't going to stop me._

_\--Bull_

* * *

 

A LETTER FROM DORIAN TO THE IRON BULL

_Amatus,_

_No need to get so militant. It was nothing, really. Just a tiny stab wound. Just a few tiny stab wounds. You've seen me live through worse, truly. I do appreciate your concern, though, and I do apologize for not being fully honest with you about the situation._

_Things in Tevinter are simply . . . as one would expect, I assume. It's certainly not good, especially for me, but I still believe I am doing the right thing by being here. It's simply going to be a little more difficult and bloody than I had hoped. I was trying to speak with some once-was friends in influential families, but my identity is now too known here for me to start with anyone of real importance. I was followed back to my inn and stabbed in an alley. Embarrassing, isn't it? I've helped to take down an archdemon and here I am, laid up in bed, for being stabbed in an alley._

_Leliana's agents found me in my room frighteningly soon after. I always underestimate her reach. They set me up with a healer, and though he's skilled, he says I need to rest for at least two weeks for the wounds to heal before going and trying to get myself killed again. His words, not mine._

_I admit it's harder to focus on fighting without the team by my side. I would like your input on something: I need help, but clearly you cannot come to my aid what with the rather noticeable horns. I need people who are not known to be friends of the Inquisition. I need people who have some investment in righting the wrongs of my home. I was wondering . . . do you think a return to Tevinter would be something Krem would be interested in, or do you think the experience would leave him traumatized? I think having a chance to help fix the things that made him an outcast may be something he finds appealing. I could be wrong (though I am usually not), so please discuss with him if possible._

_____And please, amatus, understand why it cannot be you who joins me here. Believe me when I say I wish constantly that you could. _ _ _ _ _ _I do miss you, amatus, more than words can say._______ _ _ _ _

_Well, that's sanguine enough for one letter, isn't it? And speaking of, I should stop writing lest wounds open up and I bleed out. Joking, joking._

_\--Dorian_

* * *

 

A LETTER FROM DORIAN TO INQUISITOR AMIRA LAVELLAN, COMMANDER CULLEN RUTHERFORD, LADY JOSEPHINE MONTILYET, AND LADY LELIANA

_My dear Inquisitor and advisors to the Inquisitor,_

_Thank you for sending your people after me despite my specific request to do this alone. I understand that probably came off as dreadfully witty and sarcastic, but I mean it sincerely. I am clearly in need of more help than I would have liked to have admit, especially right now. Please thank Cole for me, though I am sure he is already aware of my gratitude._

_\--Dorian_

* * *

 

A LETTER FROM DORIAN TO AMIRA

_Amira,_

_I lay in bed bleeding and near beaten to death. The man I love is halfway across the world. I could have easily died the other night, and all I could think about was how I would not be able to see Bull again, and how short life truly is. It was all incredibly saccharine, embarrassingly so, and really I roll my eyes at the thought even now._

_However, I think something should be said for cherishing someone who very clearly loves you and is very clearly in your close vicinity. That is all I will say on the matter. I hope by the time this reaches you, you have already amended your slight and have used the words that are appropriate in this situation and will continue to do so.  
_

_Was my meaning clear? I apologize if I was too subtle. It's difficult to convey the true extent of my sarcasm and judgment with all of these potions being forced into me._

_I only mean that you are usually in even more dangerous situations than I am currently, and you both deserve better than to not truly appreciate each other immediately--and for once, I do not mean that as an innuendo._

_I hope all is well. I miss you and everyone else. Please send them my regards. I assume you know my facial expressions well enough to know how to position your eyebrows for each person to give them the appropriate effect._

_\--Dorian_

* * *

A LETTER FROM MIA RUTHERFORD TO CULLEN RUTHERFORD

_My dear brother,_

_Thank you again for having me in your big fancy castle. You can say it's not yours, but if it's anyone's it's the Inquisitor's, and it seems like soon there isn't going to be too much of a separation between what's hers and what's yours soon. So, thank you for having me in your big fancy castle._

_It was good to see you again. I missed you so much. I miss you now, too, back on the farm. Can we please not go years without seeing each other again? After everything that's happened, it put some things into perspective, and I don't think any of us should be too busy for family. And speaking of, please reach out to our other siblings as well, won't you? I've told them you're not dead but that's not good enough, and we both know it._

_But I actually didn't write to you just to yell this time. I thought you should know that just after I got home, Morgan showed up. Said she didn't have anywhere else to go. She's a surly girl, but I think some good work and conversation will do her well. We've tasked her with some farm work and given her a room to stay in for now. She isn't going around telling everyone you're all working with a spirit. She just seems lost, and angry, and scared--and I can't really blame her for that._

_Hopefully she'll start warming up soon. Poor thing's just seen too much, lost too much. I'll try to get her back on her feet. We've been talking and I think she's starting to work through everything. I haven't seen too much progress, but anything is a lot for someone so stubborn._

_I hope all is well at Skyhold, and I hope all the best for you and Amira. She's a good woman, and I can tell how much you love her. I'm happy for you. It seems like you've needed this for some time._

_Love,_

_Mia_


	36. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> incoming fluff

                The sun shone in globes of white, green, and pink in Amira’s room through her windows, the stained glass making designs on the ground of trees reaching up towards the sky with budding blossoms. Tomes with spells and Dalish history littered the desk, staves propped up behind it, while a sword laid on the ground in front of it. There was a small, neat stack of blueprints and maps on the corner of the desk, out of the way of the mess of books. There was a neatly-arranged pile of armor and folded clothes to the side of the bed that had been haphazardly draped with a leather coat, trousers, and a blue tunic.

                Amira laid in bed, her head on Cullen’s chest as he idly played with her hair. She kissed his chest every few moments—small, delicate kisses there to do nothing more than remind both of them that this moment was real.

                “Say it again,” Cullen said softly. Amira smiled and moved up the bed so her head was next to his on a pillow.

                She locked eyes with him and said, “I love you.”

                She leaned forward and kissed him, both of them still smiling. She said it again, followed by a kiss, and again, followed by another.

                “Making up for lost time?” he said with a smirk.

                “Oh, don’t be cruel,” she said, but she was laughing. “It’s been _weeks_. The joke is getting old, you know.”

Cullen kissed her again, a full kiss instead of the lazy pecks they had given each other that morning.

                “Anything to hear those words from your lips again,” he said.

                “I love you.”

                They kissed again, the urgency that had once been now changed into something calmer, something more satiated, something more comfortable. Words and understanding had solidified them; the underlying threat of being without each other was gone now, replaced by the knowledge that as long as both of them were alive, they would have each other. It was a stillness, a warmth, a security that neither of them had known before.

                “We should get out of bed,” Cullen said. “I imagine it’s nearly noon.”

                “Absolutely not,” Amira said. “One of these days, you will learn that the world will no crumble if you don’t rise with the sun every day.”

                “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

                Amira chuckled. “Fair point.” She moved back down to lay on his chest and then said, “Did you read Lace’s letter?”

                “Not yet.”

                “It’s on the desk,” she said, moving towards the edge of the bed. “I can go—’’

                Cullen wrapped his arm around her and pulled her back to him. “Absolutely not,” he said, and she laughed at the mimicry of her own words. “I shall read it later. What did it say?”

                “Good things,” she said. “She, Krem, Dorian, and Dagna have made strides. It looks like their efforts are finally taking. Lace’s idea to start with the typical citizens instead of going straight to the influential seems to have been a wise choice. She hates Tevinter, but says at least it’s better than the Approach.”

                Cullen laughed. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it. How are she and Krem?”

                “She said they’ve gotten a lot closer—it seems like they’re getting towards something more serious now. She admitted it’s been difficult not to immediately shoot down anyone who insults him, but she’s trying.”

                “No wonder Bull approves of her so much. And Dorian thinks they should be home within the year?”

                “If all goes well.”

                “That would be nice,” he said. “It’s been strange not to play chess with him. Or have him criticize my hair.”

                “I would say he only does that because he’s jealous, but we both know that’s a lie.”

                They laughed, and Amira stretched with a sigh.

                “You’re probably right,” she said. “We should get up.”

                She kissed him again and moved to the edge of the bed. He sat up and kissed her back lightly before getting up. The two of them got dressed and Amira put her hair up in a lackadaisical bun.

                “Ready to face the day?” she asked.

                “With you?” he said. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . And that's a wrap. :) Thank you all so much for your comments and kudos and support. It seriously means so much to me I can't even say. You guys are great. From here, I'll be doing little one-shots as deleted scenes while I take finals and move out for summer (so I might not post for a while) and then I'll be planning out my next fic, which is hopefully going to be a solavellan modern au (hopefully not too many of you hate modern aus!). if you have any questions or prompts please ask me over at my tumblr, left-of-here. I'm more than happy to take requests, especially for the deleted scenes! and thank you all again so so so much :)


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